


(Fuck you they said) As they threw their threads from their wedding bed

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Arranged Marriage, Cultural Differences, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, President Sheriff Stilinski, Prince Derek Hale, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 96,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23986231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: First Son Stiles Stilinski just accidentally caused an international incident. And apparently the only way to save human-werewolf relations is to marry him off to Prince Derek of Triskele. Stiles is going to need all of his acting skills to make the marriage look real, because the Prince is kind of a fucking asshole.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 328
Kudos: 1157





	1. Fanggate, or A Scandal In the East Room

**Author's Note:**

> For Sterek bingo prompts: Arranged Marriage, Fake Relationship, Wedding (chapter 5), and Pet Names (they may not all be nice, but oh boy Stiles uses a lot of them). 
> 
> Updates should happen every 4 days (and perhaps sooner when I run out of one-shots near the end of the month). 
> 
> I swear this was going to be a one-shot. Except I'm incapable of writing short things. So enjoy the slow to medium burn...

Stiles honestly didn’t mean to cause an international incident this time. Had there been times where he had proceeded with a plan fully aware that it was likely to cause an international incident of some kind? Absolutely, not that he ever would have admitted to it in front of his father (or anyone except his closest confidantes, if he had those). 

This time, though, he’d honestly just been intending to observe the visitors from close by. He didn’t get very many opportunities to interact with werewolves - and technically he was not supposed to be interacting with them this time either. The Royal Family - and honestly, how come that werewolves had actual royalty? - was just there as a show of faith, as a way to prove that their relations with the human leadership had much improved since Gerard Argent had been impeached five years ago (and his vice-president had lost the election to John Stilinski a few years later). The media had to believe that President Stilinski and Queen Laura were at least allies with a strong partnership, if not actual friends. 

Which they really, really were not. Not for lack of trying, probably, but it just wasn’t happening. 

Not that Queen Laura seemed like a bad person. Stiles was just very aware that most important people had about a million faces they swapped out like they were changing clothes. Why would the young Queen of the werewolf nation of Triskele be any different? 

After the way she’d inherited the throne, Stiles would not have been surprised if she was even more guarded than all of her predecessors combined. She’d lost most of her family because of the previous president’s insane beliefs about wolves, so technically no one should have been able to blame her if she held a bit of a grudge against his replacement. 

Stiles would though. He’d put every inch of blame on her if she held a grudge, because John Noah Stilinski was a much better man and president than Gerard Argent (or his cronies) had ever been. And that should have been obvious to anyone, even werewolves who hardly left their territory because they hated humans much more than humans had ever hated the wolves. Still they (Laura and her entourage) did not seem to trust his Dad much. 

It pissed him off, but it also made him curious. He needed to find out more about these wolves and the risks they could pose. It didn’t matter that the Secret Service already had every bit of intel that had ever been collected about anyone who’d ever come into contact with Queen Laura. Because they didn’t have the kind of vested interest that Stiles did. 

“Stiles!” His Dad sounded pretty damn furious, even though he was trying to hide it. 

Oh, right, international incident. The giant problem he’d created by attempting to spy upon the Royal Family - Prince Derek in particular. Honestly, could it really be purely Stiles’ problem if all he’d done is hide in the secret passageway to observe the wolves privately? 

He’d just gotten a bit impatient, wiggling around a little as he tried to get comfortable in such tight quarters, and apparently the werewolf Prince had been within earshot. So when Stiles had pushed open the secret door just a little bit so he could grab himself a snack, the wolf had seen it as a vicious attack against his family. He’d yanked Stiles away from his hiding spot and tackled him to the floor, holding his teeth basically at Stiles’ neck. 

“Derek,” Queen Laura sounded concerned as well. 

Yeah, Stiles still had the Prince’s very sharp teeth at his throat. 

The supposed party had kind of stumbled to a halt with Prince Derek’s sudden leap at Stiles - so, honestly, wasn’t that evidence that all of this was the Prince’s fault - and the other guests were pretending that they weren’t listening in very, very closely. 

“Be very still, Stiles,” his Dad warned him. 

“I know, they’re very sharp,” Stiles just had to let his mouth get ahead of him again. 

That made the Prince growl against his neck. The sensation of hot breath there made him shiver - because he was only nineteen and didn’t exactly get to have a lot of opportunities to get in such close quarters with anyone due to his Dad’s position. There was no way that the President’s teenage son got to go to college parties - because he was nineteen and not allowed to drink, no matter that all his classmates got wasted every weekend. It also meant that he didn’t exactly have very many opportunities to date or even hook up. 

Hence the hair trigger. 

“Did you want to see him again that badly?” Queen Laura seemingly lost the plot. “You couldn’t wait until after the party? Boys, this is extremely embarrassing.” 

Somehow, that seemed to make sense to the others present, even his Dad. Because from what Stiles could see - which was not a lot, seeing as Prince Derek had him on his stomach, pressed into the floor, with barely enough wiggle room to lift his head - his Dad had actually relaxed just slightly at the Queen’s random statements. 

There was no way that was a good thing for Stiles, though. 

“Come on, boys,” John Stilinski was good at pretending to sound like he was having fun. “Let’s find you boys a place where you can have your reunion a little more privately. Hormones.” 

Reunion? Sure, he’d technically met Prince Derek a couple of times before now, in a handshake line for something or other. They had crossed paths before at a couple of important events that required the attendance of the American president and his family, as well as the presence of the remaining members of the house of Triskele. 

A once so proud house had been reduced to only three members: Queen Laura, her younger brother, and their Uncle, the late Queen Talia’s younger brother. People had been surprised when Laura had been named Queen, instead of letting Peter reign - but no one had been unhappy at the surprise announcement. Many a politician let out a sigh of relief. 

“Derek, you can let go now,” Queen Laura’s voice was steel wrapped in silk. “Let’s move.” 

The young Queen was also the Alpha, the leader of the pack. Usually the Queen (or more rarely, the King) was also the Alpha, but there had been a few exceptions in ages past, when the first born child was by all rights the ruler of Triskele, but not actually the leader of the Royal pack. Or when a parent had abdicated to give their child time to get used to the throne before taking on the extra responsibilities and powers that came with being the Alpha. At least Stiles knew that much from his extensive research. Even though the information in the books was rather limited, to say the least. 

He was glad about the Alpha thing, though, because Queen Laura’s stern order made Prince Derek release his grip on Stiles just the slightest bit. There were no more teeth at his neck, and he was allowed to get up of his own volition, ignoring the hand reached out by his father. 

“Let’s go to the library, shall we?” President John Stilinski led the way. 

The library just so happened to be sound-proofed even against supernatural hearing. It was a legacy of Gerard Argent’s time in office, the legacy of a paranoid man who wanted his rooms warded against the wolves he seemed to despise so much. The mountain ash boundaries around the rooms had been removed, but the soundproofing remained. That now served other purposes than just cutting the wolves out of the loop. 

“It seems like we will have to make the announcement somewhat sooner than we expected,” Queen Laura followed along, further confusing Stiles with her words. “I know we’d hoped to keep them out of the public eye for a little while longer, but I don’t think we can. Not anymore.” 

Honestly, there had been some kind of mental memo (or mind-meld) happening between his Dad and Queen Laura, and somehow Stiles had missed all of that because he’d been too busy being pinned to the floor by a werewolf Prince. Seriously, his life, what the hell? His Dad had been bonding with the leader of a foreign nation while his son could have died because this asshole wolf didn’t appreciate a harmless teenage lurker checking out a party in his own home. 

What. Even. 

Look, he totally got that it probably looked bad, but clearly they had talked their way out of it by making it look like idiots kids horsing around, right? Or at least, that was definitely something they were going to do, though the hormones comment did not quite make sense when considering that possible explanation. Still, it seemed doable. 

Though Prince Derek having his teeth at Stiles’ neck did not look too friendly. Everyone knew that wolves only dropped fang - ugh, stupid werewolf slang was the worst - for the two F’s: fighting and fucking. And if they didn’t want to look like they were fighting right in front of anyone who was anyone in Northern-American politics, it had to be the other option. Which was honestly the far more ridiculous of the two, because no one was going to believe that a Prince was so overcome with lust for  _ Stiles _ that he couldn’t keep his fangs to himself. 

Honestly, this was all the Prince’s fault for being unable to control himself. If he’d just managed to keep his fangs to himself, and not attack Stiles for existing in a room he technically wasn’t supposed to be in, they wouldn’t be having this problem now. 

Still, he followed his father and the foreign nationals into the conveniently soundproofed library, because what else was he going to do? Any refusal from his end would make his father look even worse, like he couldn’t contain his wild and unstable son. Stiles was almost used to the moniker by now, even though he was hardly the wildest First Son he knew of. 

“What the actual flying fuck?” Stiles had to say that, the second the door closed behind them. 

He was very aware that he was not supposed to use that kind of language in front of any kind of dignitary - or technically, not in public, ever - but some occasions just called for it. And feeling like everyone had agreed on the plan without even involving him in it was definitely one of those occasions. And besides, he’d waited until the door was closed, which was a great show of restraint in these fucked up circumstances. What the hell was going on here? 

“I told you not to go snooping around at this party,” clearly he was getting a Talk from his Dad yet again. “You cannot keep ignoring me, Mieczyslaw. This kind of thing has consequences, far bigger ones than you can imagine right now.”

Well, that escalated quickly. And it sounded pretty fucking ominous, so clearly there was something his Dad had been lying to him about - because yes, this was not going to be pushed aside as boys just being boys (ugh), but it didn’t actually seem like that big of a deal. Not big enough to have his Dad, the president of these United States, looking more worried than he’d been since his inauguration. 

(Threats had been made against Stiles. It wasn’t pretty.)

When Stiles finally dared to look at the idiot werewolf who’d had his teeth at Stiles’ neck (okay, maybe he said that a lot, but he was kind of a little obsessed with the fact that Prince Derek had done  _ that _ and somehow  _ Stiles _ was the one in trouble), said werewolf was looking at the extremely plush carpet instead of making eye contact. Stiles was this close to poking at him to see what he was thinking - because he felt like Queen Laura and his Dad had all of the answers all figured out, and it left him feeling like the outsider in his own house. 

“I can imagine quite a lot,” Stiles knew this was not the time to get stubborn, but still. 

“Marriage,” was all that the President had to say to that. 

And yeah, Stiles could definitely imagine marriage - because he totally knew people who were married, and he’d been to more than a few weddings (mostly people who worked with or for his Dad). But he was pretty sure that was not exactly what his Dad had in mind here. 

“And?” Stiles motioned for his Dad to keep talking. 

Rude? Probably. Especially in front of her Royal Wolfiness and her ridiculous brother, which probably explained the frustrated look he got from his Dad.

“You and Derek will be getting married,” Queen Laura seemed to think it was time to interject. 

With some grade A bullshit, because seriously? What the hell kind of prank was that? 

“Okay, I get it now, very funny,” Stiles actually felt the tension dropping from his shoulders. “I went too far with the sneaking, and teeth at my neck and a very stern speech should definitely make me be a better son, starting right now. Yep, I have definitely learned my lesson.”

How his Dad got an actual Queen and a Prince in on it, he had no idea. He didn’t want to consider the ridiculous bribes it would have taken for someone who was ostensibly as serious and boring as Prince Derek to do something so out of character. The president probably owed Triskele something big now, and he had no doubt that they were going to collect. 

Was it worth it, Dad? Was it really? 

“If only it were a prank, son,” John Stilinski sighed heavily. 

“That’s exactly what you’d say if this was a prank,” Stiles knew his Dad too well, okay. “You’d sigh and look disappointed in me for a bit, and then you’d crack. So. Prank?”

The timing might have been a bit off, but he actually did appreciate that his Dad had somehow managed to recover his sense of humor. It had been a damn long time since President Stilinski had spent any time with his son (at least without any bodyguards or hangers-on or aides or any of the other people who kept them apart). Maybe things would get better after his Dad got re-elected. That was still almost a year and a half away, though. 

“Can you take something seriously for once in your life?” Prince Derek finally looked up at him, finally showing his electric blue eyes. 

Stiles’ heart pounded loudly in his chest, because he knew what blue eyes meant on a werewolf, and there was no way that his Dad ever would allow him to get married to a Beta wolf with eyes like the Prince’s. To be honest, he was surprised that his Dad would use a guy like that in a prank, which meant he either hadn’t known or it wasn’t a prank. 

Honestly, the first option sounded way better. Way more realistic too. 

“I take things very seriously when I need to,” Stiles did not want to get into it with this guy. 

“Take this seriously,” his Dad none too gently advised him. “It’s the only way we’ll get through this. Both our countries depend on you taking it seriously. I know that’s a lot, son, but there’s no other option. Not after that ridiculous stunt you just pulled.”

Multiple countries depended on Stiles taking something seriously? That was a lot of pressure, and like, he was pretty damn sure that they were all fucked if they honestly thought he could just fix things like that. He was just barely nineteen years old (happy belated birthday, Stiles) - so yeah, he qualified as a teenager mostly on a technicality. He hadn’t even finished his freshman year of college yet, how was he supposed to help save two countries? He was not that powerful. 

But he would be if he married a werewolf Prince. Was that it? 

“So, marriage?” Stiles tried not to roll his eyes too much. 

This was probably all a terrible dream. He was going to wake up any second now. 

* * *

If it was a dream, it was a very long one. It lasted forever - through the rest of that fucked up conversation, the rest of the party, and for the next couple of weeks, until they could schedule an unobtrusive way for Stiles and Prince Derek to announce their completely fictional relationship, and to sow the seeds for their very real engagement, all in the public eye. 

That dreaded day, the one they’d finally decided on, was today. 

At least Stiles had gotten his way about doing this on his home turf, where there were very little wolves around who could hear when he was lying about something. He really needed the training wheels on this first go, even though he knew he was not magically going to get a whole lot better just by being forced to spend a couple of hours alone with Prince Derek. 

Well, not that they were actually going to be left alone, because there was no way that a Prince and the First Son could go out anywhere without being closely monitored by at least half a dozen Secret Service members from both countries. Or more like half a dozen per country, because tensions were apparently high and neither country trusted the other to properly take care of their target. So, that just made everything extra fun. 

If his fake partner had been anyone else, maybe they could have bonded about the awkward behavior of everyone around them, but no. Prince Derek did not do such things - he was perfectly composed even though his brows were set for murder and he had yet to say a single word directly to Stiles since they’d left the White House. 

It was supposed to be a nice touch, the Prince coming by to pick up his basically presidential boyfriend and willingly subjecting himself to interrogation by the President. Only Stiles had been running late and so he’d found the Prince in the library, going through the many, many books they kept there and giving all of them his most serious kind of murder brows. And that was saying something, because that guy had a lot of murder-related settings - Stiles honestly could not imagine a single time where the Prince had not looked ready to kill, even when he was trying very hard to fake something resembling a smile. 

The tabloids - the US ones, Stiles had not been able to get his hands on any literature or magazines from Triskele - called him withdrawn and mysterious, Stiles just called him an asshole with a less than perfect hold on his ridiculous temper. Because it seemed like absolutely everything Stiles did antagonized the Prince even further. And sure, it wasn’t like Stiles had wanted to play nice, but how could he possibly offend someone so much just by existing? 

Even Jackson Whittemore almost liked Stiles now. Almost. 

“You are a terrible actor,” he told the Prince, quite seriously and quite vehemently. “Oh, I’m sorry, I should address you properly. You are a terrible actor, Your Royal Highness.” 

Sure, their Secret Service stalkers were probably listening in, but this was the last chance he got to speak freely. Before they were just… up for grabs, available to be ogled and glared at and judged by everyone who saw them together on this bland-ass outing. 

Stiles had advocated for something more exciting. He’d been denied. Damn the stupid Secret Service protocols and safety bullshit. How was he ever supposed to get to know this idiot over dinner and a show? A show? Like they were eighty and going to the opera to watch people singing in a language that they didn’t even speak. 

Okay, it probably wasn’t going to be that bad, but still. Stiles did not do well sitting still. Even though he got to spend time on a fucking private plane first. 

“This is the part where you’re supposed to tell me to just use your name,” Stiles was getting more than a little tired of the very formal address. “Our none too secret love story won’t look very convincing if I have to keep calling you Your Royal Highness all the time. Unless that’s a kink of yours. I promise not to judge - too much, anyway. Not more than I already do.” 

Because he was judging the hell out of the Asshole Prince - yeah, that sounded like a suitable title. Sure, Pretentious Prince had that sweet alliteration, but it didn’t cover how much of a fucking asshole this guy was. So he just had to settle for this nickname. 

“Do you ever stop talking?” The Asshole Prince growled at him. 

“Only when my mouth is otherwise occupied,” Stiles was not going to back down. 

Even though he was pretty much lying through his teeth about those opportunities ever presenting themselves. There was bending the truth a little bit and there was pretending that he spent a lot of time fooling around with people of any gender. Just because there’d been that one time with Heather when they were fourteen and wanted to know what kissing was like, didn’t mean that he could ever convincingly describe himself as any kind of skirt chaser. Also, that sounded far too heterosexual for Stiles’ interest, so… 

Wait, where was he going with that again? Other than him being a pathetic virgin who was not going to get laid ever, due to marrying a psycho wolf? Ugh, so depressing. 

Oh God, he was actually going to die a virgin. Was it too late to turn this plane around and go hide in his room to digest that for a day or two? Or five? Or a week? Or a month? Or maybe forever, because it wasn’t like he was ever going to turn this around. 

This was a forever thing. The Asshole Prince was forever to him, when he had never been allowed to have anything forever - he didn’t even get to have his own Mom forever. 

At least the Asshole could relate to that. 

“Do you ever talk when it’s not to talk down to me?” Stiles felt it was only right to return a blow. 

“Maybe if you’d ever let me get a word in,” the Asshole Prince was not so easily dissuaded. “Or maybe if I actually wanted to talk to you, I would. But I don’t.” 

Yes, that much was obvious. It had been obvious during their short flight, and it had been obvious throughout most of the car ride that would take them to their dinner destination. All Stiles knew was that they were in New York somewhere, and after an undoubtedly boring dinner, they’d go to a show somewhere and sit among all of the other elitist assholes who liked to call themselves cultured. And Stiles was going to be so bored, because it wasn’t like they’d go see a show he was actually interested in. He didn’t want to watch some play about middle-aged men in a crisis and sleeping with a much younger woman. But that was the kind of prestigious stuff the son of the President was supposed to like, probably. 

And he was going to have to pull on every bit of acting ability he had to look charmed by what had been the Prince’s choice of entertainment for the night. Stiles hadn’t even gotten to pick the restaurant, even though he knew some lovely places with some of the best pasta he’d ever eaten. But no, it had to be something fit for a Prince. (And all of their security personnel.)

“May I?” The Prince asked when they’d pulled over. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Stiles hissed at him, because he was moving to open the door. “Are you going to treat me like a fragile pathetic girl? Not that women are pathetic, females are strong as hell, but I am perfectly capable of climbing out of a car without your help.” 

Was this asshole actually going to force him to play the pathetic, fragile human for the rest of their stupidly short courtship? Because sure, Stiles was only 152 pounds of fragile skin and bone, and sarcasm had always been his best weapon in any fight, but that did not make him a liability. It didn’t make him any lesser than some asshole wolf who’d only gotten his title because he’d been born into the right family. Stiles had actually helped his Dad get here. 

Once upon a time, when he’d actually been allowed to help, to do things. 

“It’s just for the cameras,” the Prince just had to be stubborn about this. “In Triskele, it’s customary for a wolf with a human partner to step out first, to protect them from any weapons.” 

What kind of fucked up society did this guy live in? Sure, Stiles didn’t exactly go out looking to get shivved by some random lunatic, but that was what the security personnel was for, to make sure that no such person got close to him. Besides, it wasn’t as if Stiles hadn’t gotten a ton of training as soon as his Dad got elected - he technically knew all of the things he needed to do to run away or duck or get his kidnapper to bond with him. Though, honestly, it was still best not to get taken to a secondary location (STREET SMARTS! Hah, yeah, still funny.) 

Maybe he should have taken his Adderall this morning, instead of refusing to take it because of some half-cocked attempt to torture Prince Asshole by getting him stuck with unmedicated Stiles for hours on end. Oh well, it was too late for regrets now. 

“Are you just going through life expecting to be attacked?” Stiles scoffed. 

“Better than being left unprepared,” the Prince snarled, the ‘again’ silent but deadly. 

The blue eyes were only slightly less terrifying the second time around, but Stiles managed not to visibly react. Not that it did him much good when faced with someone who could tell his heart was pounding and he was sweating just a little more than he had been before. He was still determined not to show just how aware he was that Prince Derek could have torn him apart well before the Secret Service even got to him. Stiles raised his chin. 

“Just keep pulling shit like this,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that ought to convince the people that we’re so desperately in love that we’re getting married at a far too young age. That we cannot keep our hands off each other in completely non-violent ways. Well, maybe a little violent, because I’m sure they’ll imagine you being very strong and dominant and taking me up against walls and the like. Which is not a narrative we need to disprove. The narrative we do need to disprove is the one where you wolf out on me the second I say something you don’t agree with. That is not going to look good. You wanted to do this, didn’t you?” 

Was he the asshole for pushing this all back on the Asshole Prince? Probably, but it wasn’t like he gave a damn about his fiance’s feelings. 

Ugh, he basically had a fiance now (even though he hadn’t popped the actual question yet). A six foot tall, bearded, growling, angry fiance who was actually the worst. 

“If you’d stop baiting me on purpose,” the Prince was now getting huffy. 

“Oh yes, everything I do is to torture you,” Stiles thought this was an excellent time to roll his eyes again. “It’s my mission in life. It’s not like I have anything better to do. It’s not like I’m a college student actually trying to get a degree in - oh, I’m going to have to drop out, aren’t I?” 

Did this damn fake marriage actually have to take absolutely everything from him? Did his one fucking mistake really merit this? He’d been in a place where he shouldn’t have been (for the umpteenth time, even after his Dad had explicitly told him not to do that this time), trying to sneak food from the buffet (when that very food was also getting delivered to his room) and getting a peek at the mysterious feral wolves the country had been up in arms about (like he could ever stifle his curiosity when it came to not-quite monsters). 

Okay, maybe he’d fucked up a little, but still. 

“We’re not savages,” once again Prince Asshole was offended for no reason. “It’s not like werewolves don’t attend college. You don’t have to drop out. You could just transfer.” 

No big deal, just go from attending a carefully vetted college with an extremely highly rated criminology and sciences department (all carefully vetted by an entire team of Secret Service personnel) to a random werewolf school in the middle of nowhere that probably specialized in things like… violence and maybe kinesiology (a true jock’s major). It wasn’t like Stiles cared about where he lived or went to school or - fuck, he was going to have to move too. 

There was no way a werewolf prince was going to be allowed to live with the President of the United States. The humans probably liked that even less than the wolves. 

But there was no way to make all of that obvious to the Asshole Prince without going on a massive tirade and making them really, really late for their stupidly fancy dinner. Or well, maybe not stupidly fancy, because he didn’t have to go full on black tie this time. But still, more fancy than he ever wanted to be - he wore soft, comfy flannels at home when he was allowed to be himself and hide away from the pressure of being the First Son.

Right now? Well, he certainly wasn’t wearing flannel. 

“You’re the worst,” Stiles hissed at the Prince. “Can we get out of this car now? Put your human face back on. Maybe if you could attempt a smile that doesn’t look like you’re getting your guts torn out at the same time, we can get on with this bullshit. I have other things I’d rather do.” 

And then he waited for ten seconds, let out a deep breath and put on his Mieczyslaw face (funny yet approachable and easily pleased) - it polled better than Stiles (sarcastic, witty in a sardonic way and showing affection through bro speak) did. 

* * *

The dinner had not been completely awful, mostly because the food was excellent and the restaurant had not been as fancy as he’d been expecting it to be, so they didn’t make too big of a deal out of him spilling most of the carafe of water onto the tablecloths. Guess it wasn’t a terrible idea not to give him wine, even though they would not have carded him if the Asshole Prince hadn’t stopped them from serving him anything with alcohol in it. He’d been mad at the time, but when he spilled all that water… It would have sucked if it had been wine. 

Like, he hated people having to fix his problems, so. Yeah. 

But now that dinner was over, it was time for them to head towards the theater - to  _ walk _ towards the theater, because apparently they got to brave the mean streets of New York together as long as they held hands the whole time and acted all adorable about it. 

When the Prince offered his hand - minus the claws, thank  _ fuck _ \- for Stiles to take, he initially just stared at it. Because while he definitely knew what was expected of him, he was pretty damn sure that he was not ready for adorable holding hands with a stranger. There was no way he was going to be able to make that look convincing in any way. 

“We can walk to the theater,” the Prince almost looked pleading. 

And, for real? Stiles did not have to take the car just for however few blocks they needed to traverse to get to the theater? And the price was to hold hands for a couple blocks? Like, maybe he was actually going to be down to pay that one - it seemed a lot less terrible than once again being separated from the rest of the world by being shoved in a car with tinted windows and being hustled into a side entrance and never actually feeling like the carefree nineteen year old guy on a date he was supposed to be. The people were supposed to buy that story. 

They would, if they saw pictures with the Prince and the First Son holding hands as they walked down Broadway together. They would, if the First Son managed to let some of the glee he felt at walking a couple of blocks show on his face, and if the Prince managed to look at least a little less worried and/or constipated (could werewolves even get constipated like humans did?). 

“Yes, that sounds nice,” Stiles managed to play off at least some of the irrational excitement. 

“It’s a nice day for a stroll,” the Prince was actually making awkward small talk. 

He was not wrong, New York was lovely this time of year. And when he got used to holding someone’s hand as he walked (okay, mostly got used to it, because it was still weird holding anyone’s hand and the Prince’s hand was warm and almost gentle and that was weird), it was kind of nice to attempt to fall into step together and pretend to be something resembling normal for a little while. Even if he was holding hands with a fucking asshole. 

Which reminded him, time to start selling this bullshit. 

“Babe,” Stiles tried really hard to make that come out smoothly, and he mostly nailed it. “Can’t I convince you to tell me where we’re going? You know how I feel about surprises.” 

There were too many surprises in his life for someone who never got to go anywhere. On the one hand, there was all this routine and feeling so boxed in at home - though it never quite felt like an actual home - while on the other hand, there was never quite knowing what his Dad was up to and which person he was supposed to be at what time. His life was scheduled with non-stop surprises, and he could trust the Secret Service to make sure he could handle it - but he wasn’t all that sure if he could trust the Asshole Prince to do the same thing. 

“You only like them when it’s you doing the surprising,” Prince Asshole surprised the shit out of him with how absolutely fucking right he was about that. “I know. It’s just a few more blocks.” 

Stiles was not unhappy that he got to walk around for a couple more blocks - he didn’t think he’d been allowed to walk the streets of New York (or any streets) by himself since his Dad had first voted on that controversial werewolf rights bill. And that was ages ago, around the time his Mom was… Not doing so well. And honestly, before then he probably hadn’t walked around by himself either, because he was just a fucking kid, and why would he have wanted to spend any time alone? The other option was hanging out with his Mom, and that was the best thing ever. 

But that was not something he let himself think about anymore. 

“Right, here we are,” Prince Derek (maybe not an asshole right now) stopped in front of a door. 

The door did not seem to be anything special, so maybe they did have to go in through the side entrance. Stiles was pretty sure that a good part of the staff had already gone ahead just to see what dangers might have been awaiting them at this particular theater. Because that was what always happened when he went anywhere - which was probably why he hardly ever did that (that and the risks associated, because his Dad was a pretty controversial pick due to the whole ‘thinking werewolves deserved actual rights’ legislation). 

“Where is here?” Stiles had to at least try to get some answers. 

“The underworld,” the biggest assholes out of all the assholes thought it was a great idea to get cryptic even now. “I figured Hamilton might have been too political.”

Okay, so maybe that asshole wasn’t actually wrong about that. While he totally appreciated the show when he’d seen it, the last thing he wanted more of was politics, at least at this fucked up point in his life. He didn’t want to worry about elections and campaigning and political rivals and see so many reflections of his Dad in the stuff he should have just enjoyed. 

Because the werewolf Prince hadn’t actually let go of his hand - this was already a lot of work to be convincing enough to sell their story, but he was going to let it happen for now - Stiles found himself getting dragged on a journey through a veritable maze of hallways, until they found themselves in the foyer of the theater, where they were met by the rest of their security teams, and a lovely young woman handing them both Playbills and escorting them towards their seats (in the orchestra section, the best seats in the house). 

“Thank you so much for taking this effort,” the Prince was exceedingly polite to the woman. “We know it’s a lot, but I really just wanted to make tonight special. Because he deserves it.” 

Wow, he really was laying it on a bit thick there. It kind of made Stiles feel guilty that this woman was so charmed by this pathetic collection of lies - she was actually blushing a little under all of that attention, but mostly she looked at the Prince looking almost lovingly at Stiles.

(And wow, that acting skill was definitely new. Or he was constipated again.)

“Enjoy the show,” the woman smiled before walking off. 

“Now will you tell me where we are?” Stiles huffed at Prince Asshole. 

Stupidly, the stage reminded him a little bit of Hamilton - it seemed this show used the turntable effect as well - but it also reminded him of more of a prohibition era bar for some reason. The Asshole Prince had finally (!) let go of his hand, so Stiles was free to look around and see the Secret Service agents stationed everywhere in the theater. 

Great. Of course. 

“Just wait and see,” the Prince was evasive still, for some reason. 

So Stiles sighed and started people watching, as more and more people entered the relatively small theater. No strangers were allowed to sit next to them, those spots were for the Secret Service, but he still mostly got to feel like a normal person as the pre-show excitement started to ramp up until suddenly the cast and orchestra just walked on stage. No preamble, no getting into character until they sat down and got ready to tell the story. 

“Aight?” The man up front asked and Stiles was almost charmed. 

“Aight,” the cast answered, with the orchestra, and that was when the show began. 

It was obviously a love story, and at first Stiles questioned the Prince’s decision to make them watch this together. But then Persephone stepped into the scene, and he suddenly got it, because here was this woman who’d traditionally been a victim, who’d supposedly been dragged into a marriage that she never wanted - who was still trying to make it work, even though her husband had a million other things on his mind and they were living in two separate worlds a good amount of the time. She was boozing it up and laughing and dancing and he thought  _ oh _ . Maybe this marriage was not the end of his life. 

So he let himself enjoy this night, gasping audibly when Hades first spoke (because what the hell was that completely superhumanly low voice), watching the lights swing and reaching for the Prince’s - for Derek’s - arm when the world opened up and they all entered the underworld, only to get dragged into rhetoric that would have put former President Argent to shame. The chills down his spine were something he actively courted now. 

He spent the entirety of intermission just gawking at the set, and thankfully Prince Asshole didn’t even try to speak to him the whole time. He just passed him a bottle of ridiculously expensive water and was content to let Stiles think his thoughts in private. 

The second act commenced quickly, and Stiles was dragged along to the darkness of the underworld, to the workers and their blatantly anti-royalist attitude (another surprise from the Prince who seemed so accustomed to his status). The message of hope was in sharp contrast with the myth he knew so well (everyone had a mythology phase in middle school, okay?). 

And then… 

“Oh,” Stiles felt the ripple go through the audience as tears sprung to his eyes. 

Why would anyone who had a love like that ever turn around? If it had been him, he knew he would have been better - or would he truly be? Would anyone? Would the Prince? Did that even matter? It felt like it should matter if Prince Derek tried, in regards to their marriage, but it also felt like they were doomed anyway. Like they were hamsters in a hamster wheel, just going and going and never quite getting anywhere. Like they were Orpheus and Eurydice, still not managing to fix it even thousands of years after the first attempt. 

Somehow, he finished the show, watching as everything was set up for another attempt, as the world prepared to try again. Perhaps this time they were going to do it right. Perhaps this time things were going to be better. Perhaps this marriage… 

The standing ovation was almost involuntary, as he shot to his feet without his body seemingly having any kind of say in what he was doing. Because he just had to. 

“This wasn’t awful,” he turned to Prince Derek just briefly. 

“You know one date won’t be enough, right?” Prince Asshole just had to interrupt his unusually deep thoughts. “You know this won’t be enough for people to believe us, right?” 

Just when he was starting to think that this was not completely awful, that potentially marrying this guy was not going to ruin his entire fucking life. He just had to bring back reality, when Stiles happily would have floated along on that lesson of hope, of a better world. Of this marriage maybe being something that helped them get to that better world. 

It was going to help his Dad, and that was important. He just had to remember that whenever the Asshole Prince was pissing him off too much - which was all the damn time. 

“I know,” Stiles knew to keep smiling while hissing at his future husband. 

He sat back down, sulking, watching all the normal people leave, knowing that he was going to have to wait here for ages to make sure that no one dared to get close to him. Only, people didn’t actually leave, so they were stuck, just sitting there. Something was wrong. 

_ Oh fuck _ . 

What if it was his Dad? What if something had happened to him? 

“What’s going on?” Stiles turned to the Secret Service agent sitting next to him. 

There was no response, which was weird. He had been trained to look to these people for guidance in times of trouble, and now they just weren’t giving him anything, not even a twitch of a facial muscle. Which meant that there was something else going on, something involving the royal asshole on his left. The Royal Asshole who had grabbed his hand again - for no real reason - and was now none too gently making him walk with him, past half a row of strangers and down the aisle until they were suddenly standing on stage. 

And then, Prince Derek just stopped, in the middle of the stage. And got down on one knee. 

That  _ asshole _ .

“Everything has changed for me since I met you,” the Asshole Prince was very careful not to lie out loud, because there were probably wolves in the audience. “You are completely unlike anyone I have ever met. You have a million opinions and you share them like it’s no big deal to you to let yourself be so vulnerable. You don’t care about the royalty stuff at all, and you never let anyone stop you, least of all me. You’re a force of nature, you’re one of the smartest people I know, and you never let me forget it. And I know you don’t really like surprises, but maybe you won’t actually mind this one so much? Because I know you’re a romantic, and you’d never stand for such a huge moment happening in some back room somewhere.” 

That sneaky fuck just pulled this on him without any warning. Or well, that one comment about a date not being enough was not actually allowed to count as a warning, because how was he supposed to go from more than one date to a surprise marriage proposal? 

“You sneaky little... ,” Stiles let himself trail off, because he was not going to ruin this by cursing. “I cannot believe you’re pulling this. I cannot believe you. Are you actually?” 

The entire security force they’d dragged along had known about this the whole time. Which meant that his Dad had known about the proposal the whole time, which meant that they’d purposefully kept this from him for some stupid reason. Probably to make sure he looked properly surprised - they just did not have any damn faith in his acting skills. Fuck them for that, because he was pretty damn sure he was currently giving an Oscar-worthy performance. Or well, Tony-worthy, considering the venue that the Royal Asshole had chosen for this. 

“Mieczyslaw Stilinski,” the Asshole Prince started, and adjusted when he watched Stiles cringe at getting the full name treatment. “Stiles. Every day with you is going to be an adventure. I think I’m ready for that now. But only if you are. Please, will you marry me?” 

Wow, he really managed to get through the entire proposal without using the word love or saying anything that people could hear was a lie - that was crafty of him. Had he written it out somewhere, had he been working on this until he’d gotten it just right? Because Prince Derek of Triskele could not afford to be impulsive about anything like this. 

But now, the Royal Asshole (yes, he was really starting to like that nickname) had put him in the awful position of putting together a response on the fly, and making it look authentic to the thousand (!) or so people watching this very closely. Because those people were not going to be pleased by just a very demure yes and a handshake. No, Stiles was going to have to sell the hell out of this situation somehow. Starting with the answer. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming,” Stiles tried for a chuckle. “I really did not expect this. Derek, I - oh, does this mean I can stop it with the your Royal Highness bit?” 

That sent a flurry of laughter through the filled seats - they apparently thought his babbling was charming. Suck on that, Prince Asshole! Stiles was multi-talented like that: he could stall for time and get the people on board with him. It was a skill. 

“It means you’ll be royalty too,” the Prince was still looking at him with those ridiculous eyes. 

“I would look awesome in a crown,” Stiles was completely sure of that, regardless of these ridiculous circumstances. “But it’s about more than that, I guess.” 

Look, there was no way this was going to be a Very Serious Proposal, not when it involved him - and not when they both had to talk around not actually liking each other at all. So the joke just made it better, it made the whole thing sound more like him. 

No matter how completely fucking fake it was. 

“Oh, you guess?” the Prince wasn’t going to be able to play the besotted fool for long. 

“Are you waiting for something?” Stiles batted his eyelashes at his future husband, just to take at least some revenge for this bullshit. “As the man who’s gonna marry you, I feel like I should at least make you wait for me a bit. It builds character. Oh fine, pouty, of course I’ll marry you. Now get up, before I get down there with you. And no one wants to see that.” 

There were some murmurs in the audience that suggested there were some people who definitely wanted to see that, but Stiles really was not going to think too hard on that, because the Prince was actually getting up. And that meant that Stiles had to accept the ridiculous ring that he was being offered, and that he had to act suitably in love for the occasion. Not that he knew what would be suitable for getting engaged - it wasn’t like he’d done that before. 

“Let me at least put the ring on you,” the Prince was frowning for some reason. 

“Well you know what they say,” Stiles knew exactly how to be an idiot and how to make light of the situation, “if you like it, you should put a ring on it. And judging by that ring, you might more than like me. Holy shit, did you have to go for the giant rock, you ridiculous man?” 

It wasn’t actually as gigantic as Stiles had worried about in the brief few seconds that he’d had to dedicate to that kind of thoughts - but it was still bigger than anything Stiles was normally going to wear (because he didn’t actually wear any jewelry, ever). And he probably was only semi-successful at making himself sound fond of this asshole, so he had to keep playing it up for a little while longer. Even though he was actually pretty fucking furious with him. 

“Because this marriage is important to me,” the Asshole carefully skirted around the truth. 

“It fits perfectly, you sneak,” Stiles watched as careful hands placed the ring around his finger almost too gently. “What, you asked Dad for my ring size? Oh you did, didn’t you?” 

Any time now, the banter had to end and the more romantic celebration had to ensue. Which was the very thing that Stiles had been dreading all along. He supposed he could make a hug work for them, and make sure that the Royal Asshole got the message at the same time. 

So he leapt at Prince Derek without any warning, trying to make it look more romantic than hilarious and clumsy, and he was surprised to find that the werewolf had caught him easily. Still, Stiles was going for the ridiculous cuddly koala move, so he wrapped his legs around his fiance’s waist anyway. Because that was just what one did when one was trying really fucking hard to make this look romantic. When one actually wanted to kill their fiance. 

Oh, if this was how they were going to play this, Prince Asshole had another thing coming. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you for this,” Stiles finally let himself voice, right up against the Prince’s ear. “How dare you not even consult me on this? You checked with my Dad but not with me? We are going to finish this beautiful romantic moment, and then I’m going to get as far away from you as I can for the foreseeable future. You can contact my people if you need me.” 

Did Stiles have people? Yeah, there were people at the White House who would consider themselves Stiles’ people, but that was more in the personnel sense. When it came to friends, he didn’t actually have too many of those, other than his childhood friend Scott, who he barely got to see because he was attending college on the other side of the fucking country. And he wasn’t even allowed to tell Scott the truth about this marriage. 

He wasn’t allowed to tell anyone the truth. Not that he had anyone to tell in the first place. 

“Stiles,” the Asshole Prince sounded surprised. 

“Shut up,” Stiles hissed. “I’m going to let go and I’m going to be adorable and kiss you on the cheek. If you even try to grab me or kiss me, I’m going to make you eat wolfsbane.” 

Not giving the Prince of Assholes a time to respond to that, Stiles untangled himself from his idiot fiance to quickly peck him on the cheek, blushing prettily the whole time. Because of course he was blushing, being forced to get intimate with a total stranger in front of an actual fucking crowd. Didn’t this idiot get that Stiles appreciated having actual privacy?

Clearly Prince Derek the Asshole didn’t know him at all. 

Great. Stiles didn’t even want him to. He didn’t have to get to know someone to be married to them, right? They could just live one of those Regency married lives, with separate bedrooms and parlors where they entertained their separate friends. They probably never even had to see each other except for the obligatory Kodak moments. And honestly, those didn’t actually have to happen all that often, right? There were only so many banquets and charity balls that they could force him to attend without it looking like they were trying too hard. 

Yeah, it was definitely going to be one of those ‘opposite side of the palace’ type deals. 


	2. No room of one's own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is only one bed, and Stiles meets some creepy wolves - yes that includes his asshole husband to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Stiles gets pretty close to a panic attack, but he calms himself down before he gets there.
> 
> More enemies to friends to lovers goodness. If you enjoy, let me know. If you don’t - the back button is there for a reason. Not trying to be rude, but I’m having a shit time (yay depression and anxiety), and I’m doing the best I can. So please, remember that fic authors do this for free and for fun, and try not to make demands in your reviews.

There was only one bed. 

Stiles was in a strange country he’d never been in before, in a strange city, in a strange building (one of several Royal Palaces in Triskele), in a gigantic suite - and yet there was only one bed? Was there a shortage of beds in Triskele? Was that even a thing?

“Where’s your room?” Stiles asked his eternally grouchy fiance. “Or is this your room and mine is just on the other side of this wing somewhere? Either is fine by me. I’m not attached yet.” 

Well, maybe he was a little bit attached, because this room was kind of gorgeous. The bed was huge, one of those elegant four poster deals that could have housed an entire family and maybe did back in the Dark Ages. There were several large windows letting in plenty of light, and there was a reading nook in two of the windows - Stiles had already claimed the one on the right, the one that didn’t have a book lying on it yet. Oh, wait, did that mean? Nah. 

Nah, werewolves probably had a very rich tradition that involved separate rooms, right? 

How was he supposed to know about his future husband’s family history? By reading one of the many books his father’s people had been shoving at him in their constant prep work for the most ridiculous farce of a wedding that the world had ever seen? Yeah, like he actually gave a damn about these people and this country - other than their temporary assistance in his desperate need to keep his Dad safe. He was only a visitor here, not their Prince. No matter what title they gave him at the Wedding of Doom. 

Besides, maybe after his Dad had gotten re-elected, Stiles and the Asshole Prince could divorce, blaming it all on the pressures and the extensive cultural differences or some bullshit like that. It wasn’t like marriage was for life. It didn’t have to be. 

Only… werewolves did not do divorce, did they? They got mated, not married, and that was a lifelong kind of deal. Every single time Stiles thought he’d found an escape route, he found that the metaphorical door had already been latched firmly shut. 

“This is our room,” the Asshole Prince looked at Stiles like he was an idiot. 

And oh no. That was not a thing that was happening. Stiles was not going to let himself get dragged into this bullshit. He was going to need to be excluded from whatever romantic narrative that they were trying to push with the citizens of Triskele. 

He was supposed to at least have some semblance of privacy while he lived a lie for the next God knows how many years. There was going to be a separate room, and a way for him to hardly even see the Prince of Assholes unless he absolutely had to. That was the plan, and that was what he was going to get. Not this ‘only one bed’ nonsense. 

“Unacceptable,” Stiles managed to summarize his thoughts in one word. 

A truly rare occasion. One for the history books. 

“Were you actually naive enough to think it ended with the proposal?” Prince Dickhead actually scoffed at him. “In case you forgot, we’re the only ones who know. The four of us. Us, your father, and my sister. That’s it. That means we have to do this. And it means you’re damn lucky that this room is sound-proof, because even Princes get to have one room where they can speak their mind. This is the only room I have without surveillance, and I have to share it with you. Do you really think I’m any happier than you are?” 

Actually, he did. Actually, he thought that this asshole really had very little to be angry about, seeing as he got to stay in his own country, with his own people. The Prince didn’t even really have to give up on anything - he was able to do whatever he wanted as long as he occasionally played nice with Stiles for a little while. And honestly, that was the least of Stiles’ worries, because he’d been forced to throw away his entire life. 

He wasn’t even going to get to see his Dad until the wedding. And that was several months from now - the shortest engagement they could reasonably have and still keep all the visiting dignitaries safe. Stiles had been contemplating drawing it out, until he found out that vital bit of information - he wasn’t going to be separated from his Dad for any longer than he absolutely had to be. And he didn’t even understand why they had to be separated now. 

Some bullshit about wolves and their packs and Stiles not being a part of his Dad’s pack anymore, just Derek’s. Apparently the wolfy claiming started right after the engagement. 

“Fuck you,” Stiles rolled his eyes, turning his back on his fiance. “You don’t know a damn thing about me and how absolutely miserable I am. So how about you give me some privacy while I adjust to moving thousands of miles away from home to live with a sanctimonious asshole who’s too busy feeling sorry for himself to give a damn about other people.” 

Was he getting right up in the Asshole Prince’s face? Damn right he was, because he was not going to back down just because the Prince was taller, heavier, and a whole lot stronger than Stiles was. He was fine being the underdog. He liked being the scrappy one. 

“I can’t leave you alone in here,” the Prince crossed his arms over his chest. 

Oh, yes, extremely intimidating. Not. Not to anyone with Stiles’ bullshit detector. 

“Can’t, or won’t?” Stiles wasn’t having any of this ridiculous shit. “Is it actual policy or is it trust issues? I promise not to fuck with any of your precious books or the fitness equipment you probably have in the side room somewhere. Now will you just go?” 

Stiles had had some time to look around, to spot the many cases of books that were here instead of in the palace’s Royal Library (the one where Stiles was not allowed to go without a werewolf escort, because apparently they actually thought that humans might die from a fucking paper cut). And judging by the stupid muscles, there was work out gear somewhere. 

He knew the type all too well. The Prince might have pretended at scholarship with the books, but there was no way he was anything but a brawny jock who thought he could make Stiles do whatever he wanted just by growling and trying to look intimidating. 

“No,” Douchewad Prince was back to being monosyllabic. 

Again. 

“Can you at least not be in the same room as me for five minutes?” Stiles was embarrassed to hear his voice crack on that. “I need to have a goddamn  _ second _ to myself, because everyone and their mom has been on me for  _ days _ now and I haven’t gotten a moment’s peace since I got here. This morning. It’s almost dinner time. I’m sure I’m supposed to look all rosy and pretty and perhaps even freshly ravaged at dinner, so. Give. Me. A. Fucking. Minute.” 

Freshly ravaged? Why did he ever even open his mouth if it wasn’t to completely fucking traumatize himself all over again? He could probably pretend to look somewhat happy, and after a shower he might make himself look refreshed, but there was no way he even wanted to contemplate ever making himself look freshly ravaged. And not just because there was probably no way to convincingly fake that to those stupidly sharp werewolf noses. He might as well have the Prince actually ravage him, and that was not going to happen. Ever. 

“You can use the bathroom,” Prince of Pain in Stiles’ Ass finally said. “It’s not soundproofed, so I’ll be able to hear you. But I’m not in the room.” 

That didn’t actually get him anywhere but out of the line of sight. He wasn’t even going to be allowed to escape his fiance’s super hearing? The leash was actually going to be that short? 

“That’s not a fucking compromise,” Stiles said before marching into the bathroom and locking the door, even though he knew it wouldn’t do anything against a wolf. “By the way, I’ve decided that we’re waiting till marriage - or until I no longer hate you, which might be forever if you keep acting like this. So they had better not expect me to show up reading of your nasty werewolf spunk all the damn time. Because I have standards. And to please your primitive wolf-y claiming instincts: I’ll pass your virgin test on the wedding night. Or, like, the day before the wedding, whatever. Or do they only do that for the waif-like female virgins in here?” 

Yes, he was fully aware that he was ranting almost maniacally, and that he was showing zero respect to werewolf cultural traditions or any of that bullshit. And honestly, at this point he just couldn’t be bothered to care about anything but his racing heartbeat and the fact that he’d been this close to having a panic attack in front of his future husband. 

“Your heartbeat is really quick,” his fiance was actually standing up against the door, it seemed. 

“Privacy,” Stiles repeated, loudly, trying to calm his breathing while also not losing this endless argument. “Give me some goddamn privacy!” 

He turned on the water, deciding that the shower was potentially loud enough to cover any gasping breaths or escaping tears. Stiles turned to face himself in the mirror, trying to engage his other senses in order to calm down. 

Five things he could see? The dark gray towel (1) hanging over the luxurious clawfoot tub (2) with the shower caddy-like container (3) that held multiple items he couldn’t make out from his position in front of the mirror. The small piece of soap (4) that looked perfectly new on the elaborate, seemingly marble soap dish (5). Too fancy, all of it! 

Four things he could touch? The marble counter (1) that was cold under his hands, and the soft, fluffy bath mat (2) under his feet. The bristles of a completely unused toothbrush (3) with the familiar Batman color scheme, and the plastic of a tube of toothpaste (4). 

Three things he could hear? The ventilation system (1) trying to keep the air from fogging up from the hot air from the shower (2) raining down massive amounts of water. When he strained he could even hear his asshole future husband (3) mutter almost inaudibly for human ears. 

Two things he could smell? When he opened the tube of toothpaste, it smelled sharply minty (1), enough to sting his nose. So when he grabbed at the bath products, he was relieved to find almost a non-scent, with a hint of something resembling sandalwood (2). Those pesky werewolves and their non-scented products. 

One thing he could taste? A sharp coppery tang of blood (1), where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek a little too harshly. 

“What the hell was that?” His future husband couldn’t leave well enough alone. “I smell blood, what’s going on? Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?” 

Honestly, how did these idiot wolves think that humans managed to function on a day to day basis? Did they actually think that humans would die if they got something as simple as a damn paper cut? Because oh boy, had Stiles gotten more than his average share of those, especially in college. The one he’d been forced to abandon just a few days ago, being allowed to do his final exams online before starting at the all wolf university after the summer. 

Even though he knew it had to happen, it still hadn’t been fun, especially trying to attend classes when people stared at him and called him some none too creative names whenever he got within earshot. Stiles had been particularly offended by “knot slut”, just because it wasn’t even accurate. The Prince was a Beta wolf, and therefore didn’t have a knot. Though the literature had differing opinions about whether Alpha’s had knots. Some books seemed to be convinced they did, while others considered the knot issue merely a kink from weird porn. 

Not in those exact words, of course, but still. He kind of wanted to school his idiot classmates on the facts, but the son of the President of the United States (and the fiance of the Wolf Prince himself) was not supposed to be seen lecturing people on derogatory terms. Probably because Stiles’ approach to such a matter was rather… colorful. 

And he knew there would be plenty of people around with their cameras, trying to catch his every action on film. The Instagram surveillance had certainly ramped up since people found out he’d gotten engaged - they’d barely given a damn about him before, but suddenly he was hot news, and he was forced to ‘no comment’ his way to every class. Even some of his professors had sounded far too interested in discussing his personal life. 

Everyone wanted a piece of Stiles. Even this stupid Royal Asshole of a fiance of his. 

“Leave me alone,” Stiles groaned too loudly. “Just bit the inside of my cheek. I am as fine as I can possibly be under these circumstances. Now let me shower in peace. I promise I won’t slip and die if you step back and do anything but listen to me shower, you creep. ” 

Stiles was very aware of the things that he usually would have done in a shower, and he was even more aware of how weird it would be to do that now, with his future husband listening at the door, and being able to smell the result of any… activities. 

It was weird enough that he was taking his clothes off with someone listening in. 

“I’m trying to protect you,” the Idiot Prince was talking out of his ass again. 

“Well, stop doing that,” Stiles almost sprained something because he was rolling his eyes too hard. “I don’t need protecting from anything in this bathroom. I give you permission to break the lock if I slip and fall and break something, but that’s not going to happen. So you need to back the hell off and give me space so I can be naked in peace.” 

Talking to someone else while he was naked? Very fucking weird. Sure, he used to spend a decent amount of time in locker rooms, like any American teenage boy, but it was different when there were no sports involved and the person he was talking to was very much completely dressed and observing him too closely - even though the Idiot couldn’t actually see him - and oh yeah… That person was his fucking fiance. Situation? Awkward. Mind? Blown. 

“I don’t care that you’re naked,” apparently the Prince needed to make it worse. 

Stiles was just going to pretend that one didn’t sting - and it shouldn’t have, because why would it matter that this asshole future husband didn’t want to see him naked? He didn’t even want to be naked in front of that guy - not ever - so he just was not going to feel any disappointment about the perceived lack of interest. Even though he knew it would have been nice to have someone think of him as even remotely attractive. 

Too good to be true. That sort of thing didn’t happen to him. Not to Stiles Stilinski, fate’s bitch. 

“I’ll have you know that I’m very attractive,” Stiles’ mouth did not get the memo. 

That somehow did the very thing that he had been trying to accomplish for ages - it completely silenced his fiance, who clearly had no fucking clue what to say about something that was so obviously a complete lie. At least he didn’t say something rude to rub it in. 

Finally, there was blessed silence and Stiles had some valuable moments in which he could pretend that there was nothing happening outside of this room, outside of this huge shower with the rain-shower feature and the perfect water pressure and the exact right temperature, and its stupidly subtle ventilation system that didn’t make enough noise to allow Stiles to let out the sobs that had somehow gotten stuck in his throat. 

He just felt stupidly homesick, but like, actually homesick, for their old house in almost rural Virginia, where they used to live before politics took over. The house with the yellow door - only painted in that color because it was his Mom’s favorite (she loved sunflowers and kept a garden of the most obnoxiously bright flowers in the backyard) - and the porch swing he’d fallen asleep in so many times, waiting for his Dad to get home from work. The house that looked loved, and had that dent in the wall where his Mom had thrown open the door to the bathroom too harshly that time Stiles had slipped in the shower and dislocated his shoulder. The one place that had actually felt like home, even though that had changed without his Mom there. 

It was no use trying to hold back the tears anymore, because he missed her now more than ever, now that he was supposed to be all grown up and ready to take on the world. Now that he was going to get married without her there, with not even a hint that Claudia Gajos had ever existed, because he was getting married in a country that didn’t even know a thing about her and all her amazingness. And no one was going to bother to try and find out. 

Even though the wedding preparations were going ahead as if this was any other wedding where the two grooms actually gave a damn about each other, and that meant there was supposed to be room in their for the parents - or one single parent instead of four, in their case - to impart wisdom and share their family traditions. But instead, they were working on a farce that had very little to do with the simple wedding Stiles had seen pictures of. 

Sometimes he wondered what she’d say about this situation. Would she have laughed at his antics in the White House library? Would she have been amused by his trying to pretend this was all a prank, and cursing loudly when he was supposed to be so well-behaved? Would she have been on his Dad’s side in all of this? Would she have gone with him to Triskele, just to make sure that he had someone with him that he knew he could trust? 

Stiles would never know. Because it was never going to happen. 

That was enough to make him cry even more, biting down a little on his fist to keep from making any noises that his nosy future husband might pick up with his stupid hearing. 

“We’re having dinner guests,” the Prince suddenly decided to start talking again, and Stiles only barely kept in a loud groan of frustration. “Or, well, I don’t consider them guests anymore, but they’re strangers to you. It’s just a small dinner, just our pack. But you haven’t met any of the other Betas yet. They are really curious about you, especially Erica.” 

Great, more people to lie to without actually being able to lie. Sure, Stiles hadn’t actually expected that they were going to be allowed a quiet night in, but he’d been hoping for a private dinner with only people who were in the know, so that he could at least only have to lie when the Palace staff was within earshot. Just partial lying was enough to get him excited at this point. 

“Tell me about them,” Stiles ordered. 

Not because he cared about these people in any way, but because he needed the information. 

“You’ve probably heard of my Uncle Peter by now,” the Prince started. 

“Who hasn’t?” Stiles was happy to judge. “I think the entire world has heard of his… antics at this point. And I think he probably likes it that way.” 

Peter Hale - because technically these people had a last name that no one ever used - technically wasn’t in the line of succession, but he’d somehow managed to put himself in a position of power anyway. Because judging by all of the things that Stiles had heard about him - and there were many of those - the man was always going to find himself with more power than anyone had allowed him to have. He was just one of those people who almost naturally worked himself into that position, getting close to the people more powerful than him and managing to make himself indispensable to them somehow. 

“He does,” the Asshole Prince sounded muted, almost disapproving. “He’ll like you. You might be one of the few people who even get close to being as tricky as he is. Be prepared to be tested, extensively. Not about caring about me - he doesn’t actually give a damn about that - but about your views on wolves and your non-existent connections to the Argent family.” 

Great, more stupid tests that he was pretty sure he was going to fail. Sure, he didn’t exactly have any connections to the Argent family - they were pretty much pariahs in the US, even though Stiles was sure that there were many people who secretly agreed with a lot of their viewpoints - but he knew and cared very little about wolves. He really only cared if it helped his Dad somehow. And yeah, sure, from the whole equality standpoint he was absolutely pro wolves having rights - he just wanted them to stay in Triskele and not bother him. 

Only, well, now he was in Triskele, and he was surrounded by nothing but wolves. 

“Sounds lovely,” Stiles knew even a human would have been able to tell that he was lying. 

“Laura has turned only three other Betas,” Prince Moron continued as if Stiles had not said anything at all. “Now this is not something we discuss very often, because it puts them in a very vulnerable position, but it is something you are expected to know if we are to be married.” 

Was someone going to keep track of all of these things that he was already supposed to know, or was he just supposed to grasp everything immediately? He was still showering, for fuck’s sake, naked and lathering himself up with the first decent product he found - something he was assuming belonged to his fucking fiance. So Stiles had probably just let himself get Prince Pest related scent all over himself - like he actually belonged to him in any way. 

Surely wolves liked it when their significant other used the same products, or wore their clothes or smelled like them in other ways. This was the best thing that his fiance was ever going to get from him, and it had only happened because Stiles had been weepy and unfocused. 

Yes, Prince Derek was a very lucky man. 

“But can’t other wolves sense they’re in your pack?” Stiles was sure that did not make sense. 

“They can,” his fiance had that patronizing tone that told Stiles that he probably should have known about this already. “Wolves can always scent pack on another wolf, and usually there are regulations about who will be allowed to be turned, even by Royalty. Most Royal packs were strictly born wolves like me and Laura, but Mother never liked that idea. Dad was human when they met, and even though he of course was turned, she made sure that no one ever thought of him as the lesser for it. So Laura decided that she would follow Mom’s example.” 

It was odd to think of the former Queen Talia by such a normal title, by a name Stiles had used for his own mother. Sometimes Stiles forgot that these royal idiots were also just people, even if that was just in a manner of speaking. Because they weren’t actually human. 

“Isaac was the first,” the Prince sounded… sour? “We were traveling. In England. In the town we were staying at, they didn’t much like us wolves. But there was this one boy who was curious, and he introduced himself to us. Laura liked him immediately, because he reminded her of… Someone. But then he just disappeared for several days, and when he came back…” 

Sometimes Stiles forgot that this asshole had lost people too, even more so than Stiles ever could have. There had been eleven members of the Royal Family in the palace when the wolfsbane circle was closed and the fire was set - after carefully making sure that none of the human staff were present at that time. Any loyal human staff members had been knocked unconscious and locked into the stables, while others more susceptible to bribes had happily left of their own volition. Twenty-five werewolf staff members burned with the Royal Family. 

Eleven, though. Sure, Peter Hale had somehow gotten out (with injuries that had taken him over a year to heal, even with his supernatural healing ability), but that still meant ten family members that had perished. Not even counting the trusted friends that would have been counted among the employees. Thirty-five people died that day, and they’d never even recovered all of the bodies - they were too burned by the time help had arrived. 

It was too horrific to contemplate. 

So Stiles turned to wash his hair, because he might as well smell like he’d been using the Prince’s hair products too. It wasn’t like Stiles hadn’t already thoroughly marked himself as his. 

“Are you going to continue?” Stiles had to forcibly prod the Idiot to keep going. 

“His father had beaten him for getting close to wolves,” the Most Annoying Prince continued, and Stiles tasted bile at the back of his throat. “Laura smelled it the second she saw him again, and she took Isaac from that place and gave him a new family. He’s not technically royalty, none of them are, but the human equivalent would be to consider them part of the aristocracy.” 

Blah, blah, blah, more werewolf bullshit. Stiles’ hair now smelled nice and clean again, which meant that he probably had to get out of the shower soon, even though he really did not want to have this conversation - or any other conversation - face to face. 

“And the others?” Stiles did not want to hear about werewolf aristocracy rules and the like. 

“Erica was next, in Canada,” it almost sounded as if there was a smile on the Prince’s face. 

That wasn’t possible, because his stupidly handsome face didn’t do that. 

“We were visiting a hospital,” the smile had left the Idiot’s voice now. “It was every bit like every other visit, until it wasn’t. I always hated the smell of sickness, especially when there was nothing I was allowed to do about it, so I always tried to stay on the sidelines. I found myself hiding in a room with this girl. She was maybe fifteen? The sickness was all over her, but there she was, reading a comic book about Catwoman as she waited for visiting hours.” 

At least there was someone in this pack with taste. Perhaps she’d been the one responsible for the toothbrush in Batman colors - it was a decidedly human thing, with none of the special shit that was supposed to help wolves get their fangs perfectly white and shiny. Yeah, marketing was weird, but that didn’t mean it was awesome someone had gotten him a Batman toothbrush. 

“She didn’t recognize me,” now there was that smile again. “Or she just didn’t give a shit, because the doctors had told her that her epilepsy would kill her soon. She just told me to sit closer if I wanted to read along with her. And I did. We sat there for two hours.” 

Anyone who dared to order this moron around a little was potentially okay in Stiles’ books, he was sure of that much. He liked her moxie, so to say. 

What he didn’t like was that he had to turn off the shower and start getting himself ready to face the real world again. He just was not sure he was ready to meet these people that his idiot fiance was talking about, and he was especially sure that he was not ready to continue lying throughout an entire meal with these people. Which probably meant he had to be a lot more quiet than he usually was, and that was just so much fucking work. 

“And then?” Stiles almost liked this girl. 

“Visiting hours,” Prince Idiot was surprisingly talkative once Stiles got him started about his beloved pack. “I thought her parents were going to come by. They didn’t. Erica was not surprised, but still disappointed. And then the door opened, and this kid came in. Tall, broad, and surprisingly shy. A classmate. He’d brought her another comic to read, and she suddenly didn’t care about them at all anymore. Comics were for nerds, she said.” 

Had Erica been trying to impress this guy or trying to push him away? Until Stiles met her and got a better sense of who she was as a person, he had no idea. He was hoping that she wouldn’t have hidden her love of Catwoman for a guy, though.” 

“Laura found us shortly after,” the Moron continued without prodding this time. “It was obvious that Erica liked him so much, that we couldn’t just take her and leave him. Sure, we couldn’t turn him, because it wasn’t a matter of saving his life, and he was still a minor, but he came with us anyway. Boyd formally requested the bite on his eighteenth birthday.” 

That was either stupidly romantic or just stupid, and Stiles hadn’t exactly figured out which option it was. Sure, he remembered feeling like Lydia Martin was the greatest thing he’d ever seen in his entire pathetic life, and he remembered trying to do whatever he could to make her notice him. But that was nothing like this story, because Lydia never really had, and Stiles had figured out that he’d never really loved her, not like that. 

So, yeah. Maybe Stiles actually didn’t know anything about romance. 

“What’s he like?” Stiles figured he had to ask, now. 

“You might actually like Boyd,” the moron he was going to have to call his husband actually sounded fond this time. “He’s got that same stupid sense of humor that you have. He’s just more subtle about it. He’s loyal, and kinder than most anyone, especially in our pack.” 

Stiles did not want to like these people, but he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off anyway with one of the stupidly fluffy and comfortable towels - only to realize that he didn’t have any clothes in there with him. Which meant he had to face his painfully annoying fiance while he was wearing nothing but a towel - luckily these towels were not small. 

“I’m coming out now,” Stiles sighed, figuring he might as well get that over with. “If you say anything insulting before I get dressed for dinner, I’m going right back in there, and you can tell everyone I got sick of your stupid face. Right. Here we go.” 

He unlocked the door and then took a deep breath before opening the door. Apparently his stupid husband to be had not listened when Stiles had asked him to keep his distance, because Stiles almost hit him with the door (and wouldn’t that have been awesome). The Asshole Prince was just standing there, staring at every inch of Stiles like he’d never seen a freckled human nerd mostly naked before - and honestly, he probably hadn’t. 

When he moved to say something, Stiles shushed him.

“Don’t,” he sighed heavily. “Just don’t.” 

Silence would have been lovely, but even in the shower this meddling fool wanted to stay in touch, like the world’s most codependent arranged partner. Did real people actually act like this in a relationship? Here he thought the Twilight level of being in a relationship was borderline stalking, but maybe that was just normal for werewolves. 

He was really looking forward to dinner now. Not. 

“I was just going to suggest you wear something red,” the Asshole was terrible at listening. 

“And you think I don’t know how to take a hint,” Stiles sighed and started digging through his clothes, already carefully displayed in the ridiculous walk in closet. 

It was a good thing that red was actually his color. 

* * *

The Royal advisors actually gave Stiles three whole days of trying to adjust to living in a whole new world (damn you Aladdin) before they decided to trot him out in front of all the werewolf aristocracy. It was about three months less than he actually needed, but at least he’d had three days of so-called casual pack meals where he learned to talk around his feelings for the idiot he was supposed to marry in mere months - before the end of summer. 

“Stiles,” Erica hollered in his general direction. 

“My lady,” Stiles was trying to be perfectly respectful and mostly failing. “How is this fine day treating you? Is your Lord Husband here somewhere as well?” 

Yes, he was going for the full-on Regency treatment, because he had no semblance of context for how he was supposed to act in a setting like this one. Technically he was still here as the First Son, and even though he was betrothed - yes, they used that word, fucking  _ betrothed _ like this was actually a Regency romance novel - to their Prince, he was technically at the bottom of the social ladder due to his human status and his lack of a formal wolf title. 

Not that he even wanted them, because these titles were ridiculous and just another excuse for boasting from some of the morons from the peanut gallery. Some of the titles were just boastful, while others were downright terrifying in their anti-human sentiment. And Stiles was just supposed to stand there and smile prettily at someone whose family’s main claim to fame was slaughtering innocent humans that dared enter their territory. 

Oh, but it was not like that anymore, Stiles, Isaac had mockingly reassured him. As if that made even the slightest bit of a difference in the hostility Stiles had felt directed at him. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Erica felt free to roll her eyes at him, which was nice. “Can you stop pretending to be Mr. Darcy, or Knightley, or whichever Jane Austen hero you picked just now?” 

Fuck, okay, so Erica had definitely seen through his little game of slightly changing his behavior with each guest, just to keep himself entertained while trying to be so very proper all the time. It was a good thing that wolves did not expect any kind of effusive explanation of just how very in love with their Prince Stiles was, because that probably would have been too big a challenge for him, even now. Somehow he’d mostly managed to convince the Betas that he didn’t hate their Prince, but he’d cut it a little close with the Duke (Peter, that creep) a couple of times. 

“I don’t get out much,” Stiles shrugged, trying not to say anything that might offend. 

“Derek seems to really enjoy keeping you all to himself,” Erica was basically leering at that extremely disgusting implication. “Though I don’t know what you two do together, because you really don’t smell like - something I shouldn’t say in a place like this.” 

Werewolf spunk? Or was that too harsh for his delicate ears? Stiles felt like the virgin test joke he’d thrown at his stupid fiance when he first got here hadn’t even been all that far off from the truth, which was disturbing in so many ways. He’d gotten overly civilized when he’d been expecting something more feral - he’d been expecting Scottish highlanders stealing brides and murdering rival clansmen, and he got the ballroom of Almack’s instead. 

No one was allowed to ask him why he even knew about that kind of thing. Okay, fine, it was another random Wikipedia spiral, because he’d always excelled at those. 

“We play Scrabble,” Stiles knew everyone would hear the blatant lie. “We’re not fonduing until we’re married, Erica. I’m a delicate flower. I am basically the Bella Swan of this narrative, no matter how gross I may seem to think that is. Stupid vampire novels.” 

Erica was going to get the fonduing reference, he knew that much, even though he did not expect any of the other random people to have an idea of what he was referring to. So far, pop culture did not seem to be at the top of the list in Triskele. Which made him almost unable to relate to anyone, but also made it easier to sneak some truth into a reference. 

“You  _ are _ a delicate flower,” Erica pretended to fan herself, because she was a total brat that way and Stiles really did not want to like her for it. “You’re not even sampling the goods before then?” 

And Stiles just threw up a little in his mouth. Honestly, how did he ever convince people that he wasn’t being coerced into this marriage when every single time they alluded to Stiles having marital relations - yay, more Regency speak - with his future husband, he just wanted to find a private place to vomit? Was it the natural acting skill that he had never suspected he had, or just his weird rambling distracting them from seeing the truth? Or was it both? 

“I have to remain pure until my wedding night,” Stiles batted his eyelashes. 

Fuck, now he was thinking about the wedding night, and worrying about how they were going to handle that, because there was a limit to the ‘waiting ‘till marriage’ excuse - which was the actual marriage that would happen in less than three months. After that, people were going to expect him to smell… claimed all of the time. Because he’d already heard so much supposedly well-meaning advice about werewolf sex drives that he was starting to wonder if they weren’t just trying to scare him off ‘his’ Prince so that they could have him instead. 

They were fucking welcome to him - Stiles didn’t even want him. 

“Derek must be dying,” Erica almost snorted with laughter. “He’s probably marking his territory in a million other ways to make up for it, isn’t he?” 

Oh, so Stiles was his fiance’s actual  _ property _ now? He was just territory to be marked in the neverending struggle between wolf packs. Apparently there were many others who would have happily taken the crown if the entire Royal Family had perished in the flames. 

And one of those others was heading his way. Stiles had not had the displeasure to meet him yet, but apparently even that slight bit of remaining luck had come to an end. 

“Lord Deucalion,” Erica’s grin froze on her face, but she didn’t show any fear. 

Not to Stiles’ human eyes (and nose) anyway. 

“Lady Erica,” the blind wolf sounded surprisingly British, and unsurprisingly smarmy. “Could you introduce me to your companion? I have not yet had the pleasure.” 

Stiles was still somewhat apprehensive, seeing as he had not previously met a physically disabled wolf before. There was a story there, a reason why the wounds had not been allowed to heal (something he’d heard was a common punishment in the olden days of werewolf-kind), and Stiles had not been allowed to hear it. Or, well, he had not had the opportunity to ask anyone but his fiance, and anyone else would find it odd that he had not gotten all the information from that very asshole. And Stiles refused to ask  _ him _ for anything else. 

Not after the epic fight they’d had about Stiles wanting to call his father. 

“Allow me to introduce Mieczyslaw Stilinski,” Erica’s form was perfect, though, “soon to be the mate of Prince Derek Samuel Hale of Triskele. Mieczyslaw, this is Lord Deucalion.” 

Erica’s accent was truly terrible, but he honestly could not blame her for not being able to say his stupid full name with a perfect Polish accent. Not everyone had his idiot fiance’s way with languages - because apparently he was going to marry the pack diplomat. Which was just fucking ironic to him (shut it, Alanis), because there was nothing diplomatic about the Asshole Prince, and it seemed like no one but Stiles had figured that out yet. 

Which was really not giving him very high expectations about average werewolf intelligence. 

His fiance was like an open book - all anger, frustration and martyrdom complex. And yet, it seemed as if his people had a completely different view of him - or they were just speaking of a completely different person. They seemed to think that their Prince Derek was somewhat of a hero, someone kind and generous and loyal and warm. And every single time Stiles heard another person say something along those lines, his brain made the error sound that an old Windows computer made when it was totally fucked. 

Sure, the first time it had just been a mental record scratch sound, but he’d upgraded since. 

“It is truly a pleasure to meet you,” the blind wolf reached for Stiles’ hand unerringly. 

So the creep had some wolf powers still, it seemed. Of course he did, he would not have been able to defend himself against power hungry Betas if he didn’t. Because Lord Deucalion was an Alpha - supposedly a powerful one too. A blind Alpha. 

“Thank you for your kind words,” Stiles had mastered that diversion relatively quickly. 

“Lord Deucalion,” naturally Stiles’ constant shadow - his idiot fiance - showed up right at that very moment. “I see you’ve been fortunate enough to meet my intended.” 

Intended? Honestly, Stiles was going to start coming up with Regency romance novel titles for this sham of an engagement if people kept talking like this. Were they exaggerating to seem more civil - and less savage - for the human in their midst, or were werewolves simply always this extra? Stiles was pretty sure he was not going to be able to handle that. 

“Yes, I am very fortunate,” for once Prince Idiot wasn’t the biggest creep of the group. 

“Stiles, dear heart,” the Asshole had taken to calling Stiles by that horrid pet name because he’d figured out just how much Stiles abhorred it, “can I steal you for a bit? There are some other people who would like to meet you. And you know Her Majesty, she has a ton of wedding details she wants to get your opinion on. It seems as if there’s always something new to consider.” 

Fucking wedding details. Stiles was pretty sure he might actually have liked Laura if she hadn’t gotten him into this mess, and if she hadn’t been so adamant that they always had to talk about wedding things. It was as if they needed to shove the existence of the wedding down everyone’s throats at all times - and Stiles was more than a little sick of talking about what would undoubtedly be the worst day of his pathetic life. 

“Of course,” Stiles pointedly avoided using any pet name for the Idiot. 

He liked to keep all of his best ‘pet names’ for his fiance all to himself - because honestly, none of the names so far had been fit for company. And he was trying to have a trump card to surprise the Asshole with if he ever needed him to back the fuck off again. Which was pretty much all of the time, but he was almost starting to get used to having a new stalker. His Secret Service guard had been replaced by his fiance (and his guard), and it certainly could not be described as progress in any way. At least he trusted his human guards. 

“Mieczyslaw,” Queen Laura smiled when she saw him, even though it seemed forced as always. 

“Your highness,” Stiles performed his customary bow - he was getting better at it. 

Stiles had always been anything but graceful, and learning all of the proper gestures and movements of a werewolf court was certainly no exception, especially since some moves relied on werewolf strength or speed and left him gracelessly embarrassing himself (and his future husband, he viciously hoped) most of the time. But it seemed that over the course of the past few hours, he’d been made to bow so many times that it was starting to become more automatic to him. Which was not something he’d ever wanted to happen, so yay. 

“I know I keep monopolizing you,” the Queen attempted a sheepish look, but pointedly did not use any platitude to pretend to feel guilty about any of this. “But there are just so many things to think about when it comes to a wedding, and my brother just keeps you to himself so much of the time. I hardly get any time with you. So possessive, that one.” 

And that? That was a warning to anyone who dared to even think about getting involved in this sham of a relationship. Stiles had noticed the pack saying stuff like that a few times already over the course of the party - as if the Idiot’s so-called possessiveness was a good quality for a wolf to have. As if it meant that Stiles actually meant something to his fiance, instead of just being a broken toy that he had to claim only because his sister had made him do it. 

Was he enjoying describing himself as a broken object? Hell to the fucking no! 

“He really does dislike letting me out of his sight,” Stiles sighed and tried to pretend that very trait did not make him want to murder the Asshole every single time. 

“Who knows what kind of trouble you would get up to, dear heart?” That Fucking Asshole (TFA for short) just had to actively try and piss him off at a time like this. “I know you think you can take care of yourself, but you’re still new here. You don’t know all the tricks yet. I’ll teach you, whenever you’re ready. Though I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to let you out of my sight for a while longer yet. Maybe once I’ve put another ring on it…” 

Wow, kudos for the Queen Bey reference - that was not something he had ever expected to come out of That Fucking Asshole’s mouth in a place like this - but that did not suddenly make the rest of his speech any less patronizing. It wasn’t as if the Asshole was that much older than him (not that Stiles knew his age or birthday for sure, but he’d been maybe sixteen when his family died, so he couldn’t have been more than twenty-two or maybe twenty three now), and his werewolf status did not make him more intelligent than Stiles was. 

Nothing could have done that. 

“Very possessive,” Queen Laura repeated the warning yet again. 

“He won’t even allow his favorite Uncle to get to know his mate,” the Asshole Duke - known to his friends and family as Peter - just had to interfere as well. “I’ve just been dying to get all of the gossip from you directly. My dear nephew just doesn’t share your…. verbosity.”

Great, so clearly the Asshole Duke suspected something was up - just another problem to add to the already so extensive pile. Because clearly he was hoping to catch Stiles alone at some point - ew, gross, no, terrible idea - and get something out of him that he would not have been able to get from his asshole nephew. No one thought it was weird when he didn’t talk much, but even though these people hardly even knew him, they’d already managed to figure out that Stiles did not have the ability to remain silent for very long. 

“You’re his only uncle,” Stiles was almost happy for the opportunity to verbally spar, though. 

Even though Peter - the Duke, whatever - was an asshole, and far more dangerous than Stiles’ idiot fiance would ever be, he was also one of the most interesting people that Stiles had met in Triskele. Stiles was wary of him, and very rightly so, but he was also intrigued enough to want to best him at trickery. And also smart enough to know that was going to take time and effort. 

“And that’s why I’m the favorite,” the Duke looked far too smug about it. 

“And the least favorite,” Stiles made sure to keep a dumb smile on his face for that bit. 

He didn’t actually want to get murdered. Because while it was definitely mostly a harmless joke, he was also sure that his position on the bottom rung of the pack hierarchy didn’t put him in the best position to make such a joke. Also, Duke Peter did not really strike him as the particularly forgiving type of person. As in, he would have killed someone for a Twinkie, probably. Or whatever the werewolf equivalent of that joke was. 

“Such a treat, your human mate,” Peter - could Stiles call him that? - said. 

Also, Stiles was definitely going to get murdered. 

“And that’s our cue, dear,” his stupid fiance seemed to think that was a great place to leave this conversation - for once Stiles almost agreed with him. “Seems it’s time for me to get possessive of you again. And who would blame me?”

Stiles. Stiles could blame him. Like, a lot. 

Was this idiot actually disappointed in him? Like, did he think that Stiles wasn’t even able to hold his own in a place like this, against crowds upon crowds of werewolves who wanted nothing more than to catch the Royal Family in a lie? Please, he was Stiles Stilinski, he could handle fucking anything, and he was going to kick his fiance’s ass for thinking of him as fragile. Now the ass-kicking might happen from a distance (and using wolfsbane to level the playing field), but Stiles was ready to make it happen if this Asshole Prince did this even one more time. 

He was really over being the only human in the room at all times, if this was the kind of treatment that got him. He was really over being anywhere that had people, at this point, but he was learning how to play the game - he couldn’t just leave or yawn or show any kind of weakness in front of the vultures surrounding him. He had to be smart about it. 

“Where might you be possessive about me?” Stiles actually batted his eyelashes. 

Yes, it felt as ridiculous as it undoubtedly looked, but at least it gave him an opportunity to get a chance at an escape - yes, that was exactly as convoluted as it sounded. It made it sound like he wanted to get his asshole of a fiance alone - which was an outright fucking lie, but one that the captive audience would undoubtedly eat up with a damn spoon. Because he probably didn’t look worshipful enough most of the time - because there was only so much acting he could do, and that was just not a priority. Anything that did not catch him in a lie and didn’t show how much he abhorred his asshole fiance was good enough for him. 

Until now, apparently. 

“Our rooms?” The Prince of the Assholes seemingly picked up on it right away. 

Which was honestly astonishing. When previously Stiles would have said that this idiot was not able of getting a hint without Stiles basically bashing him over the head with it. He remembered the proposal fight none too fondly - and he probably wasn’t over that still. 

“Damn, Stilinski,” Erica showed up just in time to comment on that. “And here I thought you were staying pure until marriage. Not that anyone could blame you if you didn’t.”

Stiles was going to blame himself, because even though his future idiot (hah, solid nickname effort) was objectively attractive, Stiles had standards and there was no way this guy was going to meet them. Not if he continued to act like an overprotective, patronizing asshole who never took Stiles’ feelings into account. Like, that was the least of it - he deserved respect and perhaps even trust at some point. And until he got it, he was going to wait to freak out about sex until they got a whole lot closer to the stupid wedding. 

Procrastination at its finest. It really was a skill in its own right. 

“No blame needed,” Stiles was trying so hard not to sound too frustrated that he was even having this conversation. “Big guy here knows my limits, and he knows to stick to them.”

And that was not a lie, because Stiles had been very clear with his stupid fiance about how nothing was ever going to happen between the two of them. Which meant that the limits were very firmly established, and that the stupid idiot in question was pretty damn aware (heh, a  _ were _ ) of what Stiles was going to do to him if he dared to cross the line. Maybe Stiles hadn’t given him the exact details, but he’d found it was always better to let people imagine what he was going to do. The imagination was a truly terrifying place. 

“I would offer you an escort,” Queen Laura started, an almost impish grin on her face, “but I am pretty sure if I did that, everyone involved would be permanently traumatized.”

Very clever, because that was also very much not a lie. Stiles and his future husband were going to be traumatized by trying to sound as if they were actually sneaking off to fool around, and any escort sent with them was going to be traumatized either by the terrible acting and ensuing fight, or by the successful acting and witnessing their prince being a completely lovesick fool for a pathetic human. Stiles knew what these people were like. 

They really did not do too well with the full spectrum of human emotions. 

“I volunteer to be traumatized,” Duke Peter really did not believe their story, apparently. 

While Stiles was really not surprised that someone saw through them, he was also really annoyed that the Duke was getting all up in their business about it (that and it was stupidly frustrating that he didn’t even have the nerve to make a perfectly adequate Hunger Games reference). The worst of this, though, was that now he had to continue to pretend to give a damn about the Prince of Pests (alliteration worked, okay?). 

“Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” Stiles knew that this was something they had to handle themselves - without any far too convenient help from Laura. “Babe, there are many things I’d like to say about this, but I feel like they’d be out of place here.” 

Like his future husband’s uncle seemingly having a serious voyeurism kink, to go with his creepy belief in werewolf supremacy (Stiles could read between the lines). Like he hated every bit of it, but he was just going to have to go along with it to prove their fake love to the entire kingdom - or at least to its most suspicious citizen. And he was going to be damned if this was the moment that sunk their plan - no matter how much he really did not want to marry the Moron, he also could never let his father down like this. 

“Save them for our room,” the sourest of wolves actually managed a hint of a smile. 

“Gross,” Queen Laura was actually smiling at them, so clearly that was a lie. “Please try to keep it dignified until you reach the safety of your bedroom.” 

Stiles would have made a crack about not making any promises, but that clearly would have been a lie, and therefore he just winked and tried not to look and smell too uncomfortable about having a second werewolf stalker for the time being. 

“Any dark alcoves you think we need to visit?” Stiles teased, purely for any eavesdroppers. 

“We promised Laura we’d behave,” Prince Grumpy Wolf at least had enough game to go along with whatever passed for banter between the two of them. “I don’t like disappointing her.” 

That was very much true, and Stiles really did not want to look at their stalker Duke, because he knew his feelings about that were going to be written all over his face. Stiles could relate, and while that maybe wasn’t the most romantic response, it was the most sincere one. 

“I know,” he said, for that very reason. 

He grabbed his future idiot’s hand for good measure, now almost used to how the Prince’s slightly larger hand felt in his. He’d gotten used to the wider fingers - even though Stiles’ fingers might have been a bit longer - and the weird lack of calluses. Wolves didn’t get calluses because their skin always healed any damage eventually, and they didn’t really have any of the imperfections that humans like Stiles showed so clearly. Stiles was holding a perfectly formed hand, with no hint of any injuries. And that was almost the new normal at this point. 

When his future frustration (even better with the alliteration) didn’t start walking, Stiles looked at him, wondering why the idiot would ever want to spend a second more time in the company of his creepy uncle. Wondering why the Great Annoyance was looking at him so pleadingly, until he started to put his latent mind-reading powers to good use. Or, well, that was the best way he’d found to describe the way he was starting to have full on silent conversation with His Royal Pain. They couldn’t say anything that revealed what they were thinking, but they could focus real hard and think at each other and hope that worked. 

And sometimes, it actually did. 

“Babe?” Stiles made sure to be a little wide-eyed, as he squeezed the Prince’s hand in reassurance. “Are you that worried about being cute in front of your Uncle?” 

The squeeze of the hand was basically permission, or the best hint he could give - at least combined with his awkward phrasing. So he was not surprised when his greatest annoyance raised their connected hands to his lips and pressed a short kiss to Stiles’ knuckles. Surprised? No, not at all. Blushing like the stupid teenager he somehow still was? Absolutely. 

“Ugh,” Duke Peter was rolling his eyes. “Are you actually trying to make me believe like this is some kind of courtly love story? I thought you held me in higher esteem than that.” 

Stiles did not like getting baited like that, but he also was not immune to such a comment - and while kissing his fiance was very much off the table, he still had more than a couple of tricks up his sleeve. Tricks that the creeper Duke might not expect. 

“Did you expect us to make out in front of you?” Stiles decided a little rudeness was better than being soppy, at least this time. “Because that’s doing more for me than any cold shower ever did. You say that my Prince is possessive? I don’t share either.” 

That was not going to register as a lie, because he never said that he was not going to share this idiot he was engaged to. He just said that he didn’t share - and he never intended to be anything but monogamous with any person he was in a relationship with. That, and he was very aware that any statement of possession would have an effect on the wolves. 

Not the kind of effect he was expecting though. 

Because his suddenly annoyingly unpredictable fiance was pulling him close and basically shoving his face into the curve of Stiles’ shoulder, breathing heavy. The Prince was rubbing his stupid unshaven cheek against the annoyingly sensitive skin of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles was sure even the Duke noticed the shiver that went through Stiles’ entire body at the touch. He was still a teenager on a hair trigger after all, and he’d never felt this before. 

“You can’t do that to me,” the Panting Prince (hah!) was almost whining. 

“Not in public anyway,” the Disgusting Duke (he was on a roll) was none too amused. “I see your sister was right about the potential trauma. If you could get moving, I’d be much obliged. I have better things to do than to witness this pathetic excuse for puppy love.” 

So this guy was still intent on following to their door. Stiles wasn’t even surprised. 

Because he was still being pressed against the wall by a werewolf, Stiles just waited until his idiot fiance had gotten his shit together enough to let go and start walking, their fingers still intertwined as they traversed the Palace’s stupidly long and complex hallways. Stiles had almost gotten the route to the library down by now, because it was basically the only place outside of the apartments he’d spent a significant amount of time in. So once they entered more familiar hallways, it was Stiles pulling at his fiance’s hand, and not the other way around. 

When they got to the door, right before they would have been able to close it behind them and leave the Disgusting Duke (honestly, Stiles was pretty sure that nickname was going to stick) behind for the night, Stiles returned the favor and pressed his future werewolf life partner up against the door. And the moron actually let him, probably to prove their supposed love to his idiot uncle. Seeing as that was exactly what Stiles wanted, he grinned proudly. 

“Honestly, just get inside already,” the Duke sounded positively dismayed. 

Stiles let himself chuckle at the temporary victory, finally opening the door and letting them both trip into their apartments, his werewolf pain in the ass catching them just in time. 

“Goodnight Uncle Peter,” the Not So Grumpy Wolf said before slamming the door in his face. 

The second the door was closed and locked, the entire atmosphere changed. Stiles let go of the hand he’d been holding like it was going to burn him if he’d held on even a second longer, and he took several steps away from his stupid fiance. Because he needed his space more than ever after that attempt at canoodling. It was just… a lot. 

“I thought we’d never get out of there,” his future husband sighed, rubbing his temples as if werewolves could even get a tension headache. 

“We need an escape signal,” Stiles muttered, pondering to himself out loud. “A code phrase of some kind that will make it easier to play the game. Duke Peter is not convinced yet.” 

Okay, so maybe he was not done plotting yet. Funnily enough the future hubby (gross) almost looked appreciative of the effort. Gross. 

* * *

The ball had been weird, but it had been better than this, basically locked inside the Royal apartments and having the Asshole Prince around all the damn time. It almost seemed as if he was only allowed to leave if the Idiot escorted him everywhere. Which just made him not at all inclined to leave the apartments, because he only really wanted to leave to get the hell away from this barnacle disguised as a grumpy werewolf. 

Could he even get any more clingy?

Yes, he really could. He could have gotten within touching distance in bed, basically the one border that they had not crossed and never would, if Stiles had anything to say about it. It was bad enough that they had to share a bed all the time, and the only reason Stiles had been staying even remotely sane was that the bed was basically gigantic and they barely even touched at night. They could stay on their separate sides and pretend to sleep alone - even though sometimes Stiles still woke in the middle of the night because he wasn’t used to having any kind of presence so close to him at night. It didn’t feel normal yet. 

“Can’t you just go play with your little friends?” Stiles had not given up on wheedling some privacy out of the Idiot Prince. “I promise to lock the door behind you and only open it for you. I’ll even give you any electronics so you can be sure I’m not contacting anyone without your express permission, like any stereotypical controlling spouse.” 

Oh, did anyone really think that Stiles was just going to let this go? Because there was no way that was ever going to happen. He was never going to give up on the concept of privacy, even though wolves did not seem to believe in it at all. 

“This is not about controlling you,” the Asshole frowned. “Why do you continue to see the absolute worst in me, when I have done nothing to make you think any of that?” 

Did he not get this yet? Still? Did this absolute imbecile still think that he was a perfectly innocent and harmless being who had never done anything wrong in his pathetic little life? Because oh boy did Stiles have more than a few things to say about that. 

“Nothing?” Stiles was getting ready for quite the rant. 

His voice still cracked when he got too frustrated, which had been the topic of a previous argument when Stiles had noticed that his asshole fiance found it amusing that his voice hadn’t quite settled into a proper register yet, at least not when he was at the height of frustration and exasperation. Of course that discovery meant that Stiles yelled at him for thirty minutes straight. 

Had he really expected anything else. 

“Oh, great, here we go again,” the Moron knew exactly how to make it worse. “Please just tell me again how I’ve ruined your life and I’m keeping you here against your will and you’re just like Rapunzel and I’m the emotionally abusive stepmother figure.” 

The comparison was particularly apt to Stiles, and he was already growing out his hair to make sure that in a million years, when someone finally let him out of these damn apartments for more than a quick breath of fresh air on their balcony or a short trip to the library, his hair would be long enough to make an escape from the previously mentioned balcony. It was going to take every second of those million years, but he thought it was worth it. 

“If you insist,” Stiles let the sarcasm speak for itself. “I have been here for weeks now, and you haven’t managed to leave me alone once. Well, okay, there was that one time where you had to attend one of your werewolf council things and you stuck me in a side room with your Betas to watch over me, but I literally haven’t had a second’s peace since you stuck me in here. I get that human norms and values are completely foreign to you, but I think I have been very clear about this very simple request for some fucking alone time. I honestly don’t know what you think I’d do with thirty minutes of alone time inside this apartment, but feel free to enlighten me so I can refute every single one of your completely baseless arguments.” 

The stupid thing was that they’d had this very argument before - it happened pretty much daily, which meant that even this was starting to become part of Stiles’ extremely fucked up routine, of his normal life in Triskele. If anything about this could ever pass for normal. 

By now, he was probably able to predict exactly what his opponent was going to say next. 

“Do you think I like being stuck with you?” The Prince of Assholes always said that. 

“You don’t,” Stiles felt a serious amount of flailing coming on. “Which is why it’s just completely incomprehensible to me that you still keep me here. I don’t care if you lock me into the apartments, I don’t care if you just leave me here with no books and no entertainment. I just need some time without you around all the time. I’m not going to break anything, least of all myself. I just need to be able to hear myself think without your constant brooding. I need to have my thoughts where you won’t be able to smell them all the damn time.” 

For some reason the Asshole Prince just refused to accept that he was Stiles’ jailor as much as anyone else in this kingdom. He liked to pretend that they were both being forced into this - and while they were, to some extent, the Prince was very much still in a position of power here, while Stiles had been reduced to a prisoner in what was supposed to be his home. He didn’t even know where the kitchens were, because he’d never been allowed to go there, not in the five or so weeks he’d spent living in this gigantic palace. He knew pretty much every inch of their apartments, even the exact details of the cleaning routine the palace staff went through every other day.

The cleaning routine that happened while the Jailor Prince kept Stiles confined to one of their rooms while the others were being carefully cleaned with unscented products, and the staff was so very careful around the Prince that Stiles wondered if they were actually afraid of what he would do if they didn’t leave at least a basis of his scent behind even after cleaning. That routine that he’d still managed to memorize even from a distance. 

Because that was the closest thing to interaction with people he got now, outside of the mandatory dinners with the pack that his future husband still dragged him along to. Because things were only allowed on his terms, never on Stiles’. Because those were the rules in Triskele - the rules and laws were only made by wolves. Never by humans. 

“That’s just instinct,” another familiar argument sounded. 

“I fucking know that,” Stiles loathed that they were having the same argument for the umpteenth time. “I know you can’t help it, you poor thing. There, there. Poor wolfy baby. Enough pity for you? Great, because I was never going to give you more than this.” 

That earned him a loud growl from his future husband and perpetual pain in his ass, because of course he was already pissed enough to act like the Beast from a fucking Disney movie. It almost seemed like he was always on the cusp of going completely feral just because of how annoyed he was about something that Stiles had told him. 

Because apparently that legendary control went to shit when it came to this. 

“I have nothing,” Stiles tried once again to make the Royal Pain see reason. “I have somehow managed myself back from a panic attack so many times now, but at some point it’s going to happen and I think it would be a terrible idea for that to happen in public. So you’re going to leave me the  _ fuck _ alone for an hour and let me break the hell down in peace. Because I have  _ nothing _ . No friends, no job, no family, no one who gets what I’m going through.” 

He could tell that the Royal Pain In His Ass was getting ready to interrupt him, and there was just no way that Stiles was going to let that happen when he was finally getting the upper hand in this never ending discussion. This time, he was going to get his privacy - finally. 

“And don’t even start claiming that you get it,” Stiles knew to stop that in its tracks, “because until I lock you in a room with a stranger every hour of every day, and that stranger can basically read your mind all the damn time even though you get absolutely  _ nothing _ off them… Until you spend at least a month without talking to anyone you know and love, until you don’t even remember people looking at you with love in their eyes… Until you only remember the people who hate you just for being born human… Until…” 

Right, there were all the signs for an impending panic attack. And he simply refused to have one of those in front of this waste of space. In front of the asshole who just stood there and let Stiles break to pieces over and over again because he couldn’t even do this one little thing for him. 

And here he actually thought, for a split second after that stupid party, that they could maybe be allies instead of enemies. Guess he was really fucking wrong about that. 

Which meant he really was alone. All alone. 

“I miss my Dad,” Stiles finally stopped struggling against the tears. “He is all I have left, and because of your stupid rules, I can’t even talk to him on the phone. I knew I wasn’t going to see him all that much, but now I don’t even get to see a pixelated version of his face. I miss my friend. My only friend. I miss being allowed to go places, even though I had to take an entire Secret Service team with me everywhere. I miss my home and I miss my Mom, and I know that last bit isn’t new, but it’s worse like this. I feel isolated and you’re suffocating me so badly that I haven’t been able to cry outside the shower. Though you probably know about that already.” 

And that was it, the last thing he was able to get out before he completely broke down. He managed to curl up in the corner of the ridiculous couch - or sectional, really - and hid his face in the hoodie he was turtling in (yes, he did actually get to wear his comfy clothes since he wasn’t allowed to leave the apartments and he saw no one but his Moron To Be). It was a stupid impulse, because there was no way that his future husband wasn’t able to scent the salt from the tears, but he’d rather the Asshole not have an image to go with that scent. 

It seemed like he was not the only one who didn’t want that image out there, because when Stiles dared to look up again, he was in for a treat. 

“I’m just going to be in the library for a bit,” the Terrified Idiot looked like he wanted to be anywhere but this close to the tears. “Do you want a new book? Anything? I’ll get it for you.” 

Honestly, while Stiles usually loved to read and do research, he hadn’t been in the mood to do any of that for ages now. He didn’t want to read any heavy tomes about werewolf history and culture, so he’d mostly been reading the werewolf equivalent of Harlequin romances. There were a lot of heaving bosoms, and a lot of neck nibbling and kinky claiming ceremonies that involved public sex to prove that the bond was legit. And honestly, Stiles was pretty sure he’d already made it clear that none of that shit was going to happen at his claiming ceremony. 

Or mating ceremony. Or wedding. Or whatever it was that they decided to call it - Stiles had had no input, so he wouldn’t even know anything about it, other than the fact that he had to show up and wear the monkey suit that they’d been fitting him for (in one of the side rooms of their apartment, with his future husband keeping a very close eye on him). That and it seemed pretty likely that he was actually going to see his Dad again at some point during the day. 

So far, that seemed like the highlight of the whole thing. 

“I’m good,” Stiles knew it was a lie, but he did not want to get into it. 

“I’ll be back in a bit,” was the last thing the Imbecile said before running off. 

Stiles could have sworn there was actual dust being kicked up, like this was a cartoon and His Royal Pain was Wile E. Coyote or some other character along those lines. Though Stiles was pretty happy with his first example, seeing as he thought of himself as similar to Road Runner. 

Especially because that guy always won somehow. And Stiles? He was going to win this, if there was actually something to be won here. 

He was just going to take a few minutes to let all those annoying tears out, to mourn the things he had to leave behind at home, and then he was going to dry his face (get rid of all that gross snot, because ugh) and get himself together. And when his idiot fiance came back he was going to try really hard not to call him by any mean nicknames - after he’d laughed at him for running away from tears like the hounds of hell were chasing him. 

Because that was just hilarious, even though Stiles still had tears streaming down his face like this was a fucking Coldplay song and he was just dying for someone to fix him. Which he really fucking wasn’t, because if there was even anything that needed to be fixed, he was damn well going to do it himself. Because Stiles Stilinski didn’t need anyone’s help. 

Sometimes he still wanted help, though, even though he didn’t really need it. He wanted to be independent for the first time in ages, just when he was sure he never got to be completely independent again - because when one was married, one had to take their spouse’s opinion into account. Stiles was not used to that and was not sure how good he’d be at it, because he was impulsive (an impulse not even the Secret Service could fully curb) and completely unused to having a partner of any kind. Scott as his reluctant partner in crime did not count. 

He really fucking missed that idiot. If he’d had his phone still - it had been left behind in DC for some stupid reason - he could have gotten in touch and read all of the message that Scott had undoubtedly sent by now. Because his best and only friend probably would have been surprised to hear that Stiles was getting married - the dude part of it would have been the least surprising thing about it, even though Stiles had never officially come out to Scott. He just drooled over Chris Evans (or John Boyega or Oscar Isaac) as much as he did Brie Larson (or Daisy Ridley or Zendaya), and waited for Scott to draw his own conclusions. 

It may have taken him a while, but he got there eventually. 

And yeah, he really fucking missed that idiot. And his Dad, and his own bedroom with the comics collection and the picture of his mom on the nightstand - hopefully no one had touched it or moved it or ruined it somehow. There were so few pictures left that were just his, and hadn’t been used in the media at some point or other trying to gain sympathy for John Stilinski, tragic widower mourning his dearly departed wife and the mother of their son. 

There wasn’t much of her left that was just Stiles’. That, on any day, was going to be enough of a reason for more tears, but he kinda needed something resembling a tissue for him to feel comfortable making even more of a mess, because he was starting to feel super gross. 

“Now, where would a paranoid idiot keep his tissues?” Stiles moved to the bathroom, opening drawers and checking wherever he could. “Surely somewhere far away from the human who might actually need them due to his less than perfect healing ability.” 

He was this close to going full out and doing the Prince Asshole voice too, but that would have been super embarrassing if the idiot had gotten back while Stiles was still talking - and had been a whole five minutes by now, perhaps even ten. Which meant that Prince Scared of Tears was due back any second now - there was no way that Stiles was getting a full fifteen minutes of personal time without crying some more. And while that was still an option, the idea of scaring off his future husband with tears was kind of enough to make him giggle a little. 

When he didn’t find anything in the bathroom (after trying to mostly put everything back where he’d found it), he decided that a nightstand was the perfect place for something like this. So he threw himself onto the bed, rolling around a little to mess it up for good measure (because the idiot was not going to like having Stiles’ scent all over his side of the bed) before he started digging through his nightstand for some fucking Kleenex

Still, no dice. Because apparently the Royal Family was speciesist as fuck. 

Stiles Stilinski, a drama queen? God forbid. 

He was midway through digging to the nightstand on the other side of the bed (without any luck, of course) when the door opened. Stiles was tempted to check the clock to make sure it had been less than fifteen minutes since the Cowardly Prince had run away at the sight of Stiles’ tears - he just really wanted to win that bet with himself. 

Finally, after finding absolutely no tissues of any kind, Stiles forced himself to look. 

“I honestly cannot believe you,” the Asshole Prince was back in full force. 

Great, he hadn’t even been around this idiot and he’d still managed to annoy him - Stiles would have called it his gift if he hadn’t been so damn tired of always being the one who got blamed for any wrongdoing. Especially when he still had drying tear tracks on his face and a stuffy nose and he just felt really fucking exhausted. He just wanted to sleep, even though it wasn’t even later afternoon yet - maybe he could have a nap. Naps were nice. 

“What is it this time?” Stiles rolled his eyes, because he was over the dramatics. “What terrible thing have I done to you this time? Did I get my stinky scent on your favorite pillow?” 

Of course he made it a point to roll around some more, specifically on Prince Idiot’s side of the stupidly large bed - just to get his stink all over it. Because at this point he was just emotionally exhausted enough to let out all of the petty behavior that he’d kind of been trying to keep inside lately. Because he couldn’t afford to be openly immature in front of anyone else, and his future husband hadn’t actually given him this easy an opportunity in fucking ages. 

“You went through my stuff,” the Prince of Idiots was actually snarling at him. “I gave you a moment of privacy, against my better judgment, and you…” 

Against his better fucking judgment? Oh that was a bullshit excuse if he ever heard one, and he was going to make sure the Royal Asshole knew it. It was a fucking line, and this absolute moron was going to have to do a whole lot better than that if he ever wanted to Stiles to believe any of it. There had been very little judgment involved in the less than strategic retreat. 

“You were terrified of a couple of tears, you mean,” Stiles wasn’t ever going to let that slide. 

“Against my better judgment,” the Prince repeated, “and you used that slip to your advantage to just start digging through my personal belongings. Did you even wait a minute for me to be gone, or did you just tear through it right away? And here I thought you cared about privacy!” 

Digging through his personal belongings? Was he honestly going to be that anal about a fucking nightstand? Because if he was, he was going to be extremely surprised about some of the marriage vows he was going to be agreeing to in a matter of weeks. Something about what was Prince Derek’s also being Stiles’ now. And that included any not so terrifying items that the moron was hiding in his fucking nightstand. The stuff Stiles had barely even looked at, only to confirm it wasn’t actually something that he needed or could use. 

“What the hell are you going on about?” Stiles was really tempted to roll his eyes yet again. “Is this about me trying to find some kind of Kleenex in the nightstand? Because I think not having any tissues around is really unhygienic. And I know you wolves are so very superior that you never get a stuffy nose or sneeze or have to blow your nose, but I live here too, you know.” 

This place just really was not equipped for any human, even though Stiles was very much human and he actually fucking lived here. Like, did band-aids and tissues and painkillers even exist in this weird ass kingdom? Was Stiles going to have to make a special request to get the stuff he needed? Were they going to have to import Tylenol from the US? Was Stiles really the only human in Triskele right now, or at least the only non-wolf? Because that seemed… weird and more than a little bit suspicious, and possibly one of the reasons for this marriage farce. 

“You have got to stop thinking the worst of me,” Stiles sighed, bone tired and weary. 

“Right back at you,” his future husband was sulking. 

Which was just so typical of him. He was the one starting the ridiculous fight, and now he was basically pouting like a child because Stiles hadn’t turned out to be the terrifying villain that he’d been expecting. And honestly, the guy was able to tell exactly when Stiles was lying, so it had been very easy for him to put all of this to rest. Or, well, it could have been before he decided to once again act like a domineering asshole just because he could. 

Stiles was just going to have to rub his snot-filled nose against his future husband’s pillow case - because that was just how things were, apparently. Petty grievances solved in even more petty manners, because this marriage was going to be built on anger and lies. 

Really, was it any kind of wonder he wasn’t really counting the days until the wedding?


	3. Through the drinking glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a bachelor party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another 10k! In one long scene!
> 
> Note: updates will continue to be every 4 days. Please appreciate the awesomeness of that instead of demanding more now. If you're looking for more fic to read, I'm releasing something every other day this month. And there are so many talented people writing stuff for Sterek Bingo, sooooooo  
> I get being excited and wanting to see where this is going, I really do. But please, please remember I do this for fun and authors have lives and obligations outside of fandom as well. I appreciate every single one of you, but any "more! now!" responses are making me actively dread working on this fic.

Apparently werewolves had bachelor parties just like the humans did. There were so many traditions that were completely different, but bachelor parties had somehow transferred. Or, more likely, one of the previously human pack members had decided that this was definitely a tradition that they were going to uphold, even for royalty. 

“How’s your alcohol tolerance?” Erica bumped shoulders with him slightly too harshly. 

“I am not even going to attempt to outdrink you,” Stiles was smarter than that. “Even with that special wolfsbane liquor you like, I am still at a disadvantage. I honestly doubt that my future hubby is out getting wasted, so I won’t be doing that either.” 

Stiles couldn’t even imagine the supposedly perfect Prince getting drunk at his own bachelor party - though honestly, the Prince had certainly been less than perfect with Stiles. It was just that no one would believe that if Stiles told them, because they had this weird view of Prince Moron actually being a decent guy. He couldn’t imagine where they’d gotten that idea, but he supposed that wolfsbane was known to have some hallucinatory side effects. 

“Ugh, so boring,” Erica pouted and complained. “This is my first real bachelor party and you’re being a buzzkill. Boyd and I didn’t even have one, because werewolves don’t usually do that kind of thing for some stupid reason. I’m trying to make up for lost experiences here.” 

Honestly, he almost couldn’t blame her for that. She too was missing out on a lot of typical human customs, and even though Erica seemed to be perfectly adjusted, it seemed that there were some things about human culture that she actually did not want to leave behind. Even though she was probably supposed to, because no one in the Royal Palace had seemed particularly tolerant of any remaining vestiges of humanity. They were almost less tolerant of that than they were of the single human on the premises. 

Yes, Stiles was the only one, supposedly. Which was still so weird to him. 

“It’s a two person party,” Stiles just had to get that argument out there. 

“Three,” Erica had the biggest fucking grin on her face as she said that. 

Because Stiles was apparently more gullible than he thought, he started looking around to find the elusive third party guest. And then he realized that one of the wolves might have told Erica that they were going to visit - maybe Boyd actually wanted to spend some time with his mate on the closest thing they were ever going to get to their own bachelor party (no matter how weird that might have been). Or maybe Queen Laura was actually going to make an attempt to get to know her future brother-in-law a little bit better. It was way past time for that. 

Or was that just because Prince Asshole would not let her? 

“Are you already seeing two of me?” Stiles had to make sure. “Because there are only two people in this room, and I’m not expecting anyone else. If the Duke wants to join, you can tell him I’ve already passed out. That is one party guest I would happily deny. Don’t tell my boo.” 

Just the thought of the face his idiot fiance would have made if Stiles had called him his boo to his annoyingly perfect face - that was fucking killing him. There was no way that he would be able to share that thought with Erica, so he just smiled and played nice and waited somewhat patiently for the conclusion to Erica’s ridiculous three person party joke. 

“We have a surprise guest,” Erica announced, still smiling. 

“I figured,” Stiles was already feeling too sober for this, even though Erica was not actually in any way drunk yet. “And seeing as you’re all wolfy and I’m not, you can sense when they’re on their way. Or you can just tell me who it is. I am your future Prince. Prince Consort? I don’t think we’ve ever properly established my exact future title.” 

Because honestly, Stiles didn’t particularly like thinking about life after the wedding. He was still hoping that a loophole of some kind would be found, allowing him to leave Triskele and go back to living with his Dad. It was not too late for that to happen, right? 

“Prince,” Erica said decidedly. 

Great, at least he knew that now, even though he honestly didn’t give a damn about any of the royal protocol he was probably supposed to learn. Sure, he’d been none too gently reminded of the existence of the books on court protocol, and he’d actually tried to make his way through one of them, but it was really hard to remember stuff when he really did not fucking care about any of it. It was better when people allowed him to read actually interesting things. 

Speaking of actually interesting things… 

“Just tell me,” Stiles probably was not above begging. 

“Not until he gets here,” Erica was probably almost as stubborn as he was. 

So this mysterious person was not here already - good, because that probably would have gotten very weird very quickly, because there had been no one in here with him after his stupid fiance left and Erica arrived. There had literally been a thirty second gap between the two events, as if the Prince of Tools still didn’t trust him enough to leave him alone in his own fucking apartments for any longer than it took for him to sing the chorus of Mr. Brightside. Which he’d been sorely tempted to do until Erica showed up and ruined that plan. 

Though honestly, she’d probably just have sung along with him. 

“So it’s a he,” Stiles was happy with his first bit of information. 

“It’s a surprise,” Erica reminded him. “Now, talk to me. Are you nervous about the wedding? Do you need me to talk you through the ceremony? It was a surprise to me when I first found out about some of the things that get involved in werewolf weddings.” 

That was honestly the verbal equivalent of clickbait and Stiles was always weak to that kind of thing, because he just wanted to  _ know _ , even though he didn’t actually care about any of this bullshit. It was impressive how easily Erica had found some of the perfect buttons to push with him, without even having any help with them. Not that anyone in this palace knew anything about those buttons - not even his future husband knew a thing. 

“Do you need me to draw you a diagram of the wedding night?” Erica was not letting it go. 

“I think Prince Derek might actually hurt you for that,” Stiles blushed and laughed at the same time. “He’d have the werewolf equivalent of a coronary at the idea of you talking to me about our as of yet non-existent sex life. He might actually keel over and then Duke Peter will be next in line for the throne. Do you really think that is a smart idea?” 

For a second there, he actually let himself imagine it (even laughing along with Erica). Or, well, he let himself imagine a caricature of the situation, with Erica bringing in a giant whiteboard or chalkboard or something extra like that, and then drawing an extremely detailed diagram of werewolf anatomy before launching into an equally detailed explanation of how werewolf and humans could be sexually compatible. And her trailing off at the most embarrassing point in her explanation when the Asshole Prince showed up at exactly the wrong time. 

Sure, the image was kind of hilarious, but the aftermath was going to be horrendous. As most things were with his future husband. 

“His face,” Erica continued to laugh. “He’d be so pissed. But I’d be safe. Laura likes having another girl around in this testosterone-filled pack. And I’m not afraid to use that.” 

Stiles at least chuckled, because he’d already found himself kind of liking Erica and seeing the potential for the two of them becoming fast friends. She didn’t take anyone’s shit, and as a wolf she was praised for it, when it was very much discouraged for a human like Stiles. It wasn’t particularly fair, but it also didn’t mean that Stiles wanted to see Erica cowed. 

She was a great person to have on his side, even though she still (hopefully) had no idea that there even were any sides that needed to be chosen. Stiles wanted to keep the constant battle between him and his Royal Pain in the Ass far away from the rest of the pack - not in the least because everyone in Triskele had to believe in the story of their love for this marriage plot to even work. But also because it was going to ruin the closest thing Stiles had to friends. 

In here, at least. He knew - or he hoped - that he still had a friend out there. 

“What else are we doing except talking and not drinking?” Stiles was pretty sure that most bachelor parties involved actual activities of some kind. 

“Whatever we want,” Erica waved her arms about dramatically, already seemingly getting tipsy off these wolfsbane cocktails. “Everywhere the light touches is our kingdom. We are not allowed to leave the apartment - and you know how badly that turned out for Simba, so we should really stay here. But anything else? I think that’s fair game. As far as I know.” 

Honestly, Erica might have been his favorite person in Triskele at this point. 

So of course the second Stiles was starting to enjoy their first steps towards an actual friendship, it was going to get ruined. By a knock on the door - because either the mysterious third guest had arrived, or his future idiot was coming by to make sure that Stiles hadn’t dared to look at the papers and pictures he was keeping in the nightstand. 

Yes, Stiles remembered that there had been pictures. But that was about all of it. He didn’t recognize anyone in the picture - but then again, that really didn’t say much, or anything. 

“You’re going to love this,” Erica promised, and Stiles wanted to believe her. 

He just wasn’t sure if he did, or even could. But he wanted to, so badly. He wanted to believe that he got to have some nice things to make up for the perpetual awfulness of the past months - and wow, had it really been almost two months already? How did that happen? 

Still, not knowing was probably worse than getting it over with. 

“Come in,” Stiles finally said, and prepared to kick the guest out before he’d said anything. 

Only to stop in his tracks, because Erica was right. It was certainly a surprise, and he absolutely fucking loved all of it right now. The only better thing would have been a visit from his Dad. 

“Scotty,” Stiles knew he was losing it, but he just went with it. 

“Dude,” Scott opened up his arms. “Are you not even going to hug your best friend?” 

Of course he was, because even when he was fucking pissed at Scott, he wasn’t going to deprive himself of some of the best hugs ever. And since he currently wasn’t pissed at Scott in the slightest - not that he could remember anyway - he could enjoy the hug guilt free, just letting himself rejoice in spending actual time with his actual best friend who had actually managed to show up just in time for Stiles’ sorry excuse for a bachelor party. 

Scotty was here, and nothing made sense, but at least he was almost happy. 

“What the hell are you even doing here?” Stiles started asking a question, and then he just couldn’t stop asking. “Are you allowed to be here? How did you get here? How were you even able to get a flight to this country, let alone this city? Let alone the Royal Palace? Who let you in here? Does the Queen know about this? Does the - Does Derek?” 

He was still pretty much clinging to his best friend like a life preserver, and just the idea of letting go of him entirely was upsetting Stiles. It was just that he hadn’t exactly had a lot of genuine affection lately, and this was Scott. His best friend. His buddy. The person who knew him better than anyone, barring his Dad. The person who played pranks with him and got him through high school and who wasn’t perfect, but still the best friend Stiles had ever had. 

“Did you really think you could have a bachelor party without me?” Scott tried to make himself sound offended, but failed because he was smiling too hard. 

“Dude,” Stiles motioned for another hug. “It was not a matter of me not wanting you here, it was more like I was pretty damn sure that it wasn’t possible. Like, I think I’m the only human in this place and I’m special. And you’re special too, but you’re not marrying a werewolf, so I didn’t expect that you’d get to come here now. For the wedding, yeah, but now?” 

Scott hugs were fucking awesome, and he had months and months of them to make up for - because even before Stiles had been hauled across the country to Triskele, they hadn’t been able to meet up face to face. College just always managed to get in the way, and Melissa McCall (or had she gone back to Delgado now?) was not going to accept the President’s charity just so their ‘delinquent sons’ (that was a direct quote) could hang out more often. 

She was a smart woman, and Stiles really tried to respect the boundaries that she’d tried to establish with him, but well… It was difficult. 

“Thank your fiance for that,” Erica interrupted. 

Stiles was going to need a minute or two - or five, or ten, or fifteen - to pick his jaw up off the floor after that statement, because what the actual fuck? The Asshole of Assholes had actually done something that was not only not actively antagonistic, but actually kind? There was no… Stiles had no programming for something like this, because, well, he had never been able to sincerely describe his future fiance as something as simple as ‘nice’ or ‘kind’. 

And of course he still was not going to do that now. But… 

“He did?” Stiles needed to say something to break the silence. 

“Oh yeah, dude,” Scott nodded, his uneven jaw adorably obvious with the movement. “It was all Derek. Prince Derek? Sorry. Is that right? No? I think I’m supposed to say His Royal Highness or something. I’ll get better at it with practice, dude. I haven’t talked to him that much, but his… assistant or something got in touch with me a couple of weeks ago. I was at home, and the phone rang, and Mom said it was for me, and then this lady said ‘please hold for Prince Derek of Triskele’ and I totally dropped the phone.” 

Sometimes people were surprised that Stiles and Scott were friends, because Scott always seemed so normal in comparison. Erica, however, did not seem even the slightest bit surprised that Scott would talk like this - she was smiling and nodding along with the explanation and managing to hide most of her immature snickering behind her cocktail glass. 

“Of course you did,” because Stiles was not surprised to hear this at all. 

“He arranged the flight and everything,” Scott was happy to keep going. “He was super grumpy about the whole thing, for some reason, and I haven’t actually seen him yet, because he just sent someone to pick me up instead of meeting me himself, but so far I approve.” 

Scott’s seal of approval was mostly a formality, because as long as someone didn’t treat him or Stiles like an idiot, he liked them. He liked most people, unlike Stiles. He probably actually thought that the love story of Stiles and his Prince was super romantic and had tried to put him and his girlfriend in their places for the proposal bit. Even though Scott had only met the mysterious Allison when he started college. 

“Really, Scott?” Stiles sighed, because he was so not prepared for this. 

“It’s in the handbook, Stiles,” Scott was gloating, because he finally had the upper hand for once. “You put it in there, which means that you have to follow the rules too. You made me go through the entire list with Allison, so now you have to do it too. I might even add a few things to the list, because you didn’t even tell me you were dating anyone.” 

Okay, so maybe this actually was not going to be as easy as Stiles had hoped. Maybe Scott was actually more upset than Stiles thought he would be, especially about Stiles not telling him about his secret Prince before (and didn’t that just sound like the title of a romance novel?). 

So now he was going to have to manage Scott’s suspicions while never actually lying because Erica was still very much there in the room with them, and she was still listening to every word that they were saying - because she kind of lived for drama like this. And honestly, those two things felt kind of completely incompatible, so he was really going to have to work at it. 

“No one knew, buddy,” Stiles knew that wouldn’t ping as a lie. “My Dad and Laura found us together at this party a few months ago, and they had to do some damage control because half the party saw the Prince on top of me with his teeth at my neck.” 

Also not a lie, and also too much information for Scott to handle without cringing at Stiles and acting he was too pure to ever consider fooling around with anyone like this. When Stiles knew details about Scott’s Allison that was going to make it really hard to ever look her in the eye - if he ever got to meet her of course, because that did not seem to be particularly likely at this point. Unless Scott was allowed to bring a date to Stiles’ wedding, of course. 

“I knew you were kinkier than that,” Erica was having way too much fun with this. 

“Pure until marriage,” Stiles refuted, because he only got to use that argument for a few more weeks. “I am still a virgin, stop being gross. Yes that means you too, Scott.” 

Ugh, yes, it was still embarrassing to talk about that in front of people - but it was miles better than having people thinking that he was having regular sex with the Prince of Idiots. Not that any of the wolves would think that, not when they had not ever smelled anything related to sex on Stiles. There had never been so much as a hickey, even though werewolves were supposedly very,  _ very _ prone to leaving marks. Especially when it concerned their mates or future mates, and those mates were very human and therefore showed the mark beautifully. 

While the embarrassment of talking about his continued virginity with Scott was minimal, he was still annoyed at his best friend. Because whenever the topic of sex came up… 

“I didn’t even say anything,” Scott huffed. 

“You had your Allison face on again,” Stiles was all too aware of what that looked like. 

It was disgustingly sappy, and if Stiles ever made that face about anyone in front of any of these people (including the werewolves), they were absolutely allowed to kill him. Not that he was ever going to tell them that, because these people still had to think that he was absolutely besotted with Prince Derek. And somehow they did, because Stiles wasn’t a half bad actor when he set his mind to it - he was better than his fiance anyway. 

The Prince was pretty terrible at acting. But he was terrible at most things, so. 

“I have an Allison face?” Scott was, of course, delighted at that revelation. 

“Who’s Allison?” Erica was just trying to keep up. 

And she clearly had no idea that it was a terrible idea to get Scott started on this topic, because now they were in for a lengthy monologue about the virtues of one Allison whatever the hell her last name was. Whenever Scott saw an opportunity to mention her, or someone was idiotic enough to give him an excuse, he would talk about nothing but her for a really long time. Until someone managed to draw him back into reality again - and yes, that someone was usually Stiles, because who else was going to do it? They didn’t really have other friends. 

“The love of my life,” Scott started, and Stiles had to roll his eyes right away. 

Because his phone was still in DC, he didn’t even have access to his homemade Allison bingo card that he’d made to mess with Scott. He’d been surprised to find out it was easy to fill a whole set of cards with things Scott had mentioned about his supposedly perfect girlfriend - and Scott had been surprised when Stiles had managed to get himself multiple bingos in one single phone conversation. Because well, Stiles had not been subtle about that. 

Was Stiles ever really subtle about anything? Probably not. 

“Scotty, I will make up a new bingo card,” Stiles warned, because ugh. 

“I thought you’d be a bit happier to talk about this,” Scott was already starting to sulk, “since you get it now. I have Allison, and you have your dashing werewolf Prince.” 

Having Scott using the word ‘dashing’ was kind of hilarious, but Stiles couldn’t deny that his best friend actually had a point here. Stiles was supposed to be more tolerant of the constant talk of love now, because he was supposedly a man in love himself, even though nothing could be further from the truth. But he was supposed to be, which meant that he had to fix this, and he probably had to let Scott go on and on about the most perfect creature in the world. 

“Proceed,” Stiles motioned, trying to give himself more time. 

“I gave her a pen on the first day of class,” Scott turned to Erica, hoping she was going to be the more interested party, seeing as she was hearing it for the first time. “Somehow I just knew that she needed a pen, even before she’d asked. And she smiled at me, with those dimples, and she said thank you, and I fell in love with her right there. But I didn’t think anything would come of it, because well… She was so far out of my league.” 

Whenever Scotty started talking about Allison, it was like they entered into somewhat of a dream world, where soft romantic music was playing and wind blew through Allison’s hair at the exact perfect time even though they’d probably been inside when they met. But that was just the way Scott described her, like she was every hot girl from every teen movie they’d ever watched together (because Scott refused to watch Star Wars with him for some reason). 

“No one is out of your league, buddy,” Stiles was contractually obligated to say that. 

No, really, it was in the friendship contact they’d drawn up as very enterprising middle schoolers, when they were lonely losers who didn’t think they’d ever be able to find someone. They’d agreed to always be encouraging about each other’s romantic prospects. 

“Thanks, dude,” Scott was grinning at him again. “But that night I ran into her again. She’d found a stray dog - she almost ran it over with her car. But I saw it happen and I got him away just in time. I’m studying to be a vet, so I’m good with dogs.” 

Erica was not the only one who laughed at that bit, because, well, she was awesome and Stiles was pretty sure that she was going to be the Catwoman to his Batman regardless of what happened between Stiles and his idiot future husband. And that was awesome, because at this point he could really use a friend in this fucked up place - and no one else had offered to fill that position, especially not his stupid fiance. He didn’t even want to talk to Stiles. 

But it was not a good time to get annoyed about that again. 

“Hope you’re good with more than just dogs,” Erica giggled and poured herself another drink. 

“Erica,” Stiles wanted to chide, but he just ended up laughing. “Sorry, Scotty.” 

Stiles was not drinking along with Erica, because he had to keep his wits in this annoyingly fraught situation, but oh boy did he wish that he could drink and forget about all of his problems at least for a few hours. He wished he could pretend that this was an actual bachelor party for an actual, real marriage and not just for a farce, that he could talk about marrying the love of his life instead of complaining about the political ally he’d gotten stuck with. 

Political ally and personal enemy. That was really the best description he could come up with. 

“Anyway that’s how we met,” Scott was not amused, and Stiles knew he was going to have to pay for his giggling. “Now it’s your turn. How did you meet your Prince?” 

Yep, Scott was definitely still mad at him, and while he was usually a lot like the puppies he loved so much, sometimes he was as stubborn as a pitbull. Mostly when it came to being a friend to Stiles even when things got difficult, or when it came to his perfect Allison. And when it came to Stiles and his Painfully Annoying Prince too, apparently. 

Which was just terrible fucking timing, really. 

“It’s not nearly as romantic as your story,” Stiles was trying to stall. 

“Obviously,” Scott was still not over it, “because you didn’t even tell me about it. I know you went to a couple events with your Dad, and he was probably there too, but you didn’t tell me. I’m your best friend. We made a pact! And now you’re getting married?” 

If it had been real, if he had genuinely met someone who was for some reason deluded enough to want to date him, he would have told Scott all about it. Even if he had been sworn to secrecy by his Dad and the entire Secret Service - they had to know by now that Scott was always his one exception to any personal secret. But because this wasn’t even close to real, that conversation had never happened, and now Stiles had to make the proposal story sound about a dozen times as romantic as it actually was to make up for it. 

“Did I tell you how he proposed?” Stiles knew he could at least be truthful about that. 

“The papers did,” Scott was obviously annoyed about that too. 

Yeah, he probably should have at least reached out to Scott before the official press release went live, even though he wasn’t supposed to do that. He probably should have done a whole bunch of things a lot differently if he even had the chance to make Scott buy this. Not that Scott was suspicious enough to expect the political maneuvering that had actually taken place - he probably just thought that Stiles had picked the first guy who’d been even remotely interested in him and was now marrying him because a werewolf Prince and the First Son casually dating was going to cause an international incident. And marriage sounded more serious. 

Scott probably thought that Stiles had said yes on a whim, because he was caught up in his first relationship (hah, the irony) or he thought that Stiles had randomly been caught fooling around with Prince Doofus and they’d been forced to act like they were dating because anything else was going to make them both sound like immature horny assholes. 

The second explanation was probably closest to the truth. 

“I’m sorry, dude,” Stiles really was genuinely sorry that he hadn’t been allowed to tell Scott a damn thing about this. “I honestly didn’t know it was going to happen like that. I was not expecting that proposal at all. Dad knew, apparently. I think the future hubby might have actually asked him for permission. Like this is a Jane Austen novel or something.” 

Was he ever going to stop making fun of his annoying fiance whenever the opportunity to do so popped up? Oh, hell no. He was never going to let that happen. Also, any opportunity to crack jokes about how closely his life resembled a romance novel...

“Oh God I am never letting him forget it,” Erica interjected, pleased as punch. 

“Fine,” Scott sighed, acting like this was a great burden on him. “You can tell me.” 

It wasn’t as if Scott desperately wanted to hear Stiles’ version of the story (and it wasn’t like he was a hopeless romantic). No, that had nothing to do with it because Scott was going to listen to this extremely romantic retelling of one of the most awkward moments in Stiles’ life out of the goodness of his heart. That was what was really going on here. 

“So, like, he took me to New York,” Stiles gave that the emphasis it deserved, because he fucking loved New York. “And you know, it was our first public date, so I was expecting a dinner at a stupidly upscale dinner and then some show that needed some president-adjacent endorsement or whatever. All with a dozen Secret Service agents from both countries.” 

The entourage was what made it really romantic - no, it really fucking didn’t, but it was the annoying reality of being the son of the President of the United States. It was going to be really weird when his Dad finished his second term and went back to being a mostly normal person and Stiles got to move around without Secret Service agents following him - only that was never going to happen now. Sure, his Dad was not going to be the President forever, but Stiles was never going to stop being the Prince of Triskele. Not after he’d married their Prince. 

“So romantic,” Erica mocked him, and he kind of loved her for it. 

“Privacy is not a thing in my life, apparently,” Stiles still hated every bit of that, and he was pretty sure both of his friends could tell. “And I honestly had no idea that he was planning this, so I was basically being a shit the whole time. I flailed so much I spilled an entire carafe of water on stupidly expensive tablecloths, but he apparently still wanted to be seen with me, because he took my hand and he told me we were walking to the theater.  _ Walking _ , Scott.” 

Yes, the excitement about walking was a bit much, but Stiles had complained about the constant supervision many times, and Scott would probably actually remember that. So he might have actually understood how much it meant to Stiles that he got to walk around the streets of New York instead of being corralled into a large car with tinted windows for a five block journey. 

“He wouldn’t tell me which show we were seeing either,” Stiles knew that Scott was aware of Stiles’ hatred for surprises. “Annoyed the crap out of me by being all mysterious and not even letting me look at the Playbill or anything. I had to figure it out by watching the show.” 

Honestly, once the show had started, he’d started to put the pieces together - because no matter how relatively uncultured he was when it came to musical theater, he’d actually heard of this show before. But it had been a surprise the whole time, and he hadn’t heard any of the songs before, even though the mythology had been far too familiar. 

“The mythology show,” was how Scott summarized it. 

“Yeah, dude,” Stiles tried really hard to sound more excited about it than he felt right now. 

Not that he wasn’t still excited about the show. Not that he didn’t still want to talk about it all the time, to anyone who was willing to listen. Except for his stupid fiance, of course. 

“He was really worried about picking the right show,” Erica spoke up, and Stiles turned to her in shock. “Derek knew it had to be a public proposal, and that it had to be a surprise, but he wanted to do at least something right. So he embarrassed himself in front of your Dad to make sure he’d gotten it right. Even though he clearly didn’t need to - he chose right the first time.” 

Wait, what? Prince Dipshit had actually made an effort? He’d actually wanted them to watch something that Stiles wouldn’t completely hate, and he’d managed to pick the right one - but he still went to Stiles’ Dad because he was worried and wanted to make sure. 

That was… not what he’d been expecting. 

“I love that stuff,” Stiles continued, glad for Erica’s distraction. “Scotty, you know how many books me and my Mom read about Zeus and all the Greek gods. I never even told that dork about that, but he just found the perfect show for us to watch. It was beautiful, I think I even cried a little. Shut up, you’re not allowed to make fun of me for this.” 

Scott should have known how perfect it was for Stiles to go into a theater and find something that reminded him of good times he shared with his mother before everything went to shit. He should have expected it to make Stiles a little emotional, especially if he wanted to believe that the Prince was actually the love of Stiles’ life. To have someone just try and make this date (and technically the proposal) so stupidly perfect? It meant a lot. 

Even though the Idiot was anything but the love of Stiles’ life. 

“No toxic masculinity allowed,” Erica followed suit to warn Scott. 

“Thanks Erica,” Stiles had to smile at her. “So the show’s over and I’m just trying to wrangle my thoughts when I realize no one is leaving the theater. So naturally, me being my charming self, I calmly turn to the Secret Service agent sitting next to me to find out what’s going on.” 

Okay, telling a little white lie like that was just way too interesting for research purposes - because when did werewolves hear a lie and when didn’t they? Was it about the speaker’s belief in the truth, was it about a physiological reaction? If that was the case, the special skill was about as reliable as a polygraph, which meant not very. Stiles knew all about ways to get around a polygraph. There had been some interesting Google spirals. 

But yeah, maybe he’d made the lie a little too obvious this time. 

“Calmly,” Scott actually snorted with laughter, that asshole. 

“Fuck you,” Stiles responded, because that was just how they communicated. “I panicked and thought something happened to my Dad for like half a second, okay? But the Prince, he just took my hand and took me on stage and he just… went down on one knee like that wasn’t an absolutely crazy thing for him to do in public, in front of all these people.” 

Because it fucking was! There was a reason most royal proposals happened in private, and security was only one part of the issue with a public proposal involving royalty (and the son of the current president). Stiles had been allowed to glance at Twitter since, he’d seen the pictures and the ‘imagine your otp’ hashtags devoted to it. He guessed that he might have been okay if the moment spawned lots of queer media and queer happiness. 

Still didn’t mean he was happy about the imminent wedding, though. 

“I can’t wait till I get to ask Allison to marry me,” Scott was once again lost in a dream world. “I should probably ask her Dad’s permission first, because he’s really scary. Like, not as scary as the rest of the Argent family, but still very,  _ very _ scary.” 

Insert mental record scratch here. Because what the actual  _ fuck _ ?

“Argent?” Stiles had to make sure he heard that right. “Allison Argent?” 

There was no way that Scott had actually dared to say that name in this palace without having the brains to realize exactly what he’d done. There was no way that the whole thing had passed him by, because even though he was well,  _ Scott _ , he also had not been living under a rock. One of the lost princesses (Cora) was around their age, which meant that their teachers got all concerned about them processing this tragedy properly. 

Scott knew exactly what that family had done - to Queen Laura, to Der- Prince Derek and everyone in Triskele. And he was just too in love to give a damn about who he hurt by being less than smart about this. He could have just used her first name, could have just not mentioned that this was the woman he was in love with. 

He was probably going to have to remind Scott not to invite her to the wedding. 

“Yeah,” Scott sounded like a man who’d written Scott Argent in his diary/journal many times. 

And yeah, Stiles knew Scott well enough that he hadn’t even considered it being an issue, because Scott knew Allison and loved her and therefore he thought that everyone else just had to feel the same. The ‘just look at those dimples, she can’t be evil’ approach to things. 

“Granddaughter of former President Gerard Argent?” Stiles just had to be sure. “Oh Scott, you idiot. You really, really should have mentioned that to me before.” 

Sure, Christopher and Allison Argent had rightfully chosen to shun the limelight, after not only Gerard, but also Katherine (Kate) had been implicated in the horrendous crime. And when some vicious anti-wolf sentiment from Victoria Argent had led to a series of protests (that had led to some violence), it made sense for the rest of the family to try and disappear. But just because they hadn’t been involved, didn’t mean that the name was not important information that Stiles should have had ages ago. Especially in his current situation. 

“It’s not like it matters,” Scott was completely missing the point, of course. 

“It really fucking matters,” Erica decided this was the time to throw in an f-bomb. 

And honestly, Stiles couldn’t blame her for that at all. Because as a werewolf, even though she’d only become one after this horrible event, Erica knew all about the kind of prejudice that Allison had grown up with. And yes, maybe she was not actively a murderer, or not actively practicing hate speech, like her other relatives, that did not mean that Allison was pro werewolf rights - and Stiles was not having anyone at his wedding who did not think that werewolf rights deserved to be recognized. Because the dreaded event was more than enough of a mess without adding that extra complication. And he wasn’t going to start off his marriage that way. 

“Why?” Scott genuinely did not get it. “She’s not like her creepy grandpa at all!” 

Obviously, because Scott would have seen through her if she had been. Sure, Scott was all about those rose colored glasses, but he would have recognized it by now if he’d been dating a psychopath. Stiles clearly had some faith in Scott still. 

“Her grandfather murdered most of Derek’s family,” Stiles could not believe that he actually had to explain this to his best friend. “The only reason Derek and Queen Laura didn’t die too was because they were visiting a children’s hospital at the time.” 

The footage of that charity visit had become even more devastating in retrospect, watching two teenagers (Prince Derek a few weeks from his sixteenth birthday, and the now Queen only nineteen years old) trying to improve the lives of sick children while their entire family burned to death a few hours away. Because they were fresh-faced and rich and adorable and seemingly had it all, until they really, really didn’t. Stiles remembers seeing them and remembers how raw the loss of his mother had still felt - and he couldn’t manage to multiply that pain by eleven. 

He didn’t even want to. He didn’t  _ ever _ want to. 

“Allison wasn’t involved in that,” Scott had to argue. “She was just a kid.”

Somehow Scott still wasn’t grasping the basis of the argument Stiles (and Erica) were trying to make here. No one was actually trying to blame Allison for the horrific death of thirty-six werewolves - Stiles wouldn’t dare blame an innocent kid for something like that - but just because she had not been involved, did not mean that everyone would trust her easily even though she was innocent. A name still had great power here. Especially  _ that _ name. 

“So was Derek,” Stiles immediately came to his fiance’s defense. “He wasn’t even sixteen yet, and his entire family was killed. And I get that it's not Allison’s fault, but don’t you get that means her name is kind of a sensitive topic in this country? In this Palace?” 

Maybe a few more repetitions of this would let Scott get it through his annoyingly thick skull - Stiles loved his bro, but sometimes he could just be so short-sighted and unrealistically noble about things. Because Allison hadn’t done anything wrong and therefore she didn’t deserve to be treated any differently - even though that just wasn’t how things  _ worked _ . 

“Does that mean I can’t invite her to the wedding?” Scott was actually pouting. 

“Scott, how about you call Allison and ask her to explain it to you?” Stiles was almost ready to give up on this conversation. “I feel like she’s the only one you listen to anyway.” 

Was that too much? That was probably too much. 

He was just tired of having this conversation, tired of being forced to defend someone he didn’t even care half as much about as he did Scott. Because Scott was his best and only friend, and the Prince was just… This guy that Stiles was supposed to spend the rest of his life with, even though he still really fucking hated him. But even though Stiles couldn’t fucking stand his future husband, he still didn’t want him to be faced with a relative of his family’s murderers on his fucking wedding day. That was a whole new low, a whole new level of hatred. 

“Well you care more about your Prince than you do about your best friend,” Scott shot back. 

“I’m marrying him, Scotty,” Stiles sighed heavily, because anything else he said would have come out a lie. “That’s forever. Don’t tell me you don’t care about Allison more than you do about me. And that’s okay, dude. It can’t just be us against the world forever.” 

It made him sad to think of it, because it had been just the two of them for the longest time - and they hadn’t needed anyone else until Scott had met Allison and everything had changed for the both of them. It had sucked for Stiles, and sometimes it still kind of sucked for him that he wasn’t actually anyone’s person anymore, that he wasn’t anyone’s top priority. He hadn’t been his Dad’s in years (the country had to come first), and then he wasn’t Scott’s either, and his future husband probably placed him somewhere near the bottom of his list. 

That wasn’t what marriage was supposed to be about, but it was Stiles’ reality. 

“Speaking of,” Erica sat up straight all of a sudden. “Looks like we’ll have to cut the party a bit shorter than expected. Your future hubby is here, and he smells  _ wasted _ .” 

Honestly, he still didn’t quite get how the sound proofing on this room worked, if Erica could hear stuff that was going on outside the room but no one could hear just what was going on inside, no matter how loud they got. And yes, that had been a direct quote from Erica meant to make Stiles worry less about being overheard. Only Stiles had been worried about the constant fighting, and Erica had been thinking more along the lines of constant moaning. 

“Oh God,” Stiles sighed heavily. 

There was no way that a drunk Derek would have been able to convincingly keep up the charade of being desperately in love with Stiles - maybe he’d already fucked up and they could just call off the whole thing. That thought was both wonderful and terrible right now, because he really didn’t want to marry this moron, but he always didn’t want to fuck up the whole world. 

Heavy was the head that wore the crown and all that rot. 

“Time for you to go,” Erica motioned for Scott to get up. 

Yes, actually that was a great idea. Erica could get Scott the hell out of there because the Prince even got close, avoiding any awkward conversations about the wedding or Scott’s pathetic attempt at a shovel talk (Stiles knew his best friend, he’d probably prepared one of those in the hopes of intimidating a werewolf prince). It was probably terrible of him that he didn’t really look forward to his best friend and his future husband meeting, but that was the reality of it. 

“But I want to meet him,” Scott went back into puppy mode. 

“And you will,” Erica said it, like she was allowed to promise something like that. “But not when he’s drunk and half asleep. That’s not the first impression he wants you to have.” 

Was Erica already metabolizing all the wolfsbane-laced alcohol she’d consumed? Because that was just not fair. To be fair, she probably stopped most of the drinking when Scott came in, and then stopped completely when they got into the whole Allison discussion. Still, unfair. 

“I’ll see you soon, Scotty,” Stiles went in for another hug. “Now get.” 

Scott reluctantly followed those orders, and Stiles shot a grateful look at Erica as she herded Scott out of the room and to wherever it was that he was staying at that night - probably nowhere in the palace, but somewhere nearby. No way were they going to let a human stay under their roof, not even for a night. Not after their history with humans. 

“Thank you, Erica,” Stiles told her, pathetically grateful. 

And then he just stood there, waiting in the door opening for his husband to return from what was undoubtedly a more interesting bachelor party than Stiles’ had been. If the idiot had gotten that drunk, something must have happened to mess with his equilibrium, but it probably wasn’t all that bad - not if his sister was leading him to his room with a grin on her face as she mumbled a few things under her breath. Things Stiles was dying to hear. 

“Fiance,” Derek looked up at his sister’s prodding and smiled at Stiles. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles felt his heart pound in his chest. “Holy shit.” 

He had never been witness to the full Prince Derek experience, not one where he was smiling and showing the adorable bunny teeth that Stiles hadn’t known he’d been hiding behind the permanent scowl. Well, now he was getting the full experience and he was not prepared - though he doubted that anyone could have been prepared for something like this. How did people look at this and not just swoon and fall over? Holy shit. 

Suddenly his fiance was every Prince Charming trope he’d ever laughed at, the tropes he didn’t think actually worked like that in real life. But they really fucking did. 

“What did you feed him?” Stiles had to ask Queen Laura. “Wolfsbane-infused lighter fluid?”

It made her laugh, and suddenly both siblings were laughing and Stiles was forcibly reminded that he’d never actually seen them like this, even though they were supposed to be young people in their twenties, laughing with friends and enjoying things without constantly worrying about the fate of their country and their people. But alas…

“Something like that,” Queen Laura helped push Derek into the room. 

“Stiles,” Derek was actually making grabby hands at him. “You smell weird. Come here.” 

Stiles was just standing there, gaping, as a drunk werewolf draped himself all over him, pressing too close as he tried to scent Stiles even though he was a little too uncoordinated to do that without keeling to the left or right and making them both fall. It was only because his idiot fiance’s sister was right there that they didn’t end up in a pile on the floor, and Stiles was forever going to be grateful to her for that, because Derek weighed a ton. All muscle, surely. 

“You have to get into bed first, Der-Bear,” Queen Laura actually pulled Derek off Stiles. “You don’t want to hurt your mate, do you? He’s human. You have to take care of him.” 

The werewolf nodded almost too vigorously at his sister and immediately started stripping - quickly enough that Stiles heard some ripping sounds as his future husband pulled his stupidly soft-looking sweater over his head. Within seconds the Prince was down to his underwear and moving to take those off as well. And that was just… a lot. 

“That’s enough, Der,” the Queen stopped him just in time. “Remember, you’re not married yet, doofus. Now, say a proper goodbye to me while you give Stiles time to get dressed for bed.” 

Right, that sounded like a good idea. He really appreciated that Laura - Her Royal Highness, but the title just felt weird now - was giving him time to get accustomed to whatever the hell was going on with his fiance. That way he had time to pull off his stupid Batman socks - engagement gift from Erica - before sitting down on the bed and turning away from the werewolf siblings who probably needed to have some kind of privacy for this sibling bonding moment. 

Also, he really did not want the Queen to see him mostly naked. Privacy. 

“I love you,” Derek told his sister, so solemnly. 

So solemnly that Stiles was pretty sure that both werewolves heard his heart breaking at that very moment. Because he said it as seriously as any kid who’d lost someone close to them, vowing to have the last words he said to someone be better this time. Stiles had done the same once, with his Dad, just after Claudia Stilinski had left them. 

“I love you too, dumbass,” Queen Laura had never been so… normal before. 

Making fun of her little brother, teasing him about being drunk and sloppy while still making sure that he didn’t embarrass himself too much. She didn’t look regal, she just looked happy and soft and mischievous - and like someone Stiles would have followed into battle if she’d only said a word. This Laura he liked, this was a woman who could be a sister and not just a Queen. But he also knew that this was not a woman she got to be very often. 

And if Stiles ever left or ruined this marriage, Laura wasn’t going to be her ever again. 

“Stiles?” Derek whirled around. “Why do you smell sad all the time?” 

This wasn’t any more sad than he’d probably been smelling these past few months, but apparently his fiance was going to call attention to it now. Had he been noticing it the whole time and just not bothered to do anything about it? Possible. Had he not dared to say anything about smelling Stiles’ emotions before? Very likely, because Stiles would not have been grateful for the reminder that absolutely nothing about his life was private anymore. 

“And that’s my cue,” the Queen sloppily saluted Stiles, pressed a hand to the back of her brother’s neck and walked towards the door. “You’ve got him, right? I don’t have to worry about him choking on his own vomit in the middle of the night, right?” 

It was so normal, so like drunken college roommates who had barely learned to deal with each other before rush week started and they were in the thick of things - it was the extremely fast kind of bonding that Stiles had always been somewhat jealous of. He wished he bonded quickly, but he was eternally suspicious - and rightly so most of the time, because people always wanted something from him that didn’t have much to do with friendship. They wanted secrets, and stories to sell to the press, and highly-coveted positions in government when they graduated. It seemed that none of them ever wanted  _ Stiles _ . 

“I wouldn’t puke,” apparently the Prince was extremely offended at the assumption. 

“Good night,” Stiles said, because what else was he going to say?

He watched Laura Hale step through the door opening and then turn back into Queen Laura of Triskele, with all the associated responsibilities. The door closed behind her and Stiles sighed and decided maybe not to lock it this time. That was trust, right? 

“Why so sad?” Prince Derek had moved over to Stiles’ side, sitting next to him on the bed. 

And that was just… a lot. Because here was a mostly naked Prince sitting next to Stiles, their shoulders occasionally brushing. And all of his attention was on Stiles, like he wanted nothing more than to make things better for Stiles right now, by whatever means necessary, and Stiles was only human. He was only nineteen and Derek had always been stupidly gorgeous, and he was mostly naked and he was being so  _ kind _ right now. 

The asshole was going to hate every bit of it when he remembered this tomorrow morning. 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Stiles told him as he finally took off his shirt. 

“I always worry about you,” the Prince said it so seriously that Stiles had to look at him. “Not just because you’re fragile. You are, but you’re not. You just hate it here so much. You hate me.” 

Those were some serious drunken leaps of logic, but Stiles was still following along with him pretty well, so at least there was that. Because it made a whole lot more sense than the perpetually angry Prince he’d been sharing these apartments with for the past two months or so - this sad and mournful and guilty guy seemed a lot closer to the guy his Pack had been describing the whole time. Only they seemed to know a somewhat happier version of Prince Derek of Triskele, one Stiles only saw a glimpse of just now. 

“Can we not do this now?” Stiles got up from the bed and pushed his pants down. “Please, Derek. You’re drunk and I’m tired and I don’t want to fight with you right now.” 

If his fiance hadn’t been so ridiculously close, he might have gotten underneath the light blankets already - even though he probably was not going to need them with the werewolf space heater he shared a bed with. Even when they kept to their respective sides of the bed, Stiles still felt the Prince’s warmth all too well. It was tempting, even in the summer. 

“You called me Derek,” the Prince was fucking delighted again. 

“Did I?” Stiles furrowed his brow and tried to think back on what he said. “I did!”

And multiple times too - in front of Scott and Erica as well, and wasn’t that just really fucking embarrassing? Or well, it had probably served his purposes well enough, because it really sold the ‘Stiles caring about his idiot fiance’ angle that he’d been trying to work. But saying it in front of the man himself? Never part of the plan, and something so vulnerable that was probably going to make things weird when the Prince got back to normal. 

“You don’t usually do that,” even drunk, this idiot was extremely observant, albeit a bit too fond of stating the obvious. “Because I’m mean to you and then you’re mean to me. I don’t like it when we’re mean, but I kind of do. But I like it most when you..”

No matter how much Stiles actually kind of wanted to hear more of this - because apparently his fiance liked it as much as Stiles did when they got a little mean and yelled at each other without any holds barred - he owed it to his stupid future husband to cut him off before he said something that he was absolutely going to regret in the morning. 

His idiot - his idiot fiance - already didn’t trust him. 

“Nope,” Stiles had to cut him off before he said anything else. “We’re not doing this sharing circle thing right now. If you still want to tell me when you wake up, you can. But not now.” 

That sounded like the sort of compromise even a drunk werewolf could accept, so Stiles wasn’t really expecting too much resistance. So he sat down on the bed again, his back against the headboard while his bed partner was still sitting on Stiles’ side, just at the foot of the bed, refusing to move to his own side for some reason. 

And yeah, drunk Derek was kind of hilarious, but he was also kind of really weird. 

“Now we sleep,” Derek said decidedly. “And we cuddle.” 

Well yeah, the first part of that sounded like an awesome idea. After the conversation with Scott, and the effort of trying to sound so in love and trying not to lie in front of a werewolf, and now having to deal with a drunk fiance who was asking hard questions when he wasn’t even going to remember the answer in the morning… Stiles definitely wanted to get some fucking sleep already, and hope that things got back to normal in the morning. 

Or back to whatever passed for normal these days. 

“We don’t cuddle,” Stiles made sure to remind him. 

“But we do now,” this, apparently, was something Derek was prepared to be stubborn about. “You smell like a stranger. That’s wrong. People will get suspicious.” 

Honestly, that just sounded like a bad excuse to cuddle. Sure, his idiot fiance wasn’t actually wrong about people getting suspicious if Stiles showed up to pack breakfast - or brunch, if the rest of them were as wasted as this moron was right now - smelling like he’d been all over a complete stranger. But if they explained that Stiles had hugged his best friend he hadn’t seen in several months, that should - no, because then they’d have to explain why the drunken fool finally getting in bed with him hadn’t just covered the scent with his own. 

So maybe it wasn’t a completely terrible excuse after all. 

“You’re very sneaky,” Stiles complimented Cuddly Wolf, who was already pulling him closer before Stiles had even really given him permission. “Fine, we can cuddle. Just this once.” 

Because he did not want to make a habit of it - it was just too weird. Sure, it was acceptable now that his fiance was all drunk and pliant and almost adorable - but if Stiles ever voiced something about cuddling when Sour Wolf was back to normal, it was going to get hostile and awkward and plain fucking weird. So this was just a one time deal, and it was never going to happen again. It wasn’t like they’d had trouble sticking to their side of the bed before. 

“You like it,” Stubborn Wolf told him. 

And yes, he wasn’t wrong about that. It was nice to be held, to feel comforted and to be spooned by someone big and strong who would protect him if something happened. It made him feel stupidly safe, even though the moron trying to protect him was probably more dangerous than anything Stiles would encounter in his sleep. 

“Good night, Stiles,” the wolf pointedly reminded him. 

“Good night, Derek,” Stiles knew that was what he was waiting for. 

The cuddliest wolf let out a happy sigh and pulled Stiles even closer, already fast asleep. 

Rude. That was just unfair. 


	4. Not so great expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is practice kissing and play fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, this is the chapter that wrote itself, basically

Annoyingly, Stiles found out he actually slept better cradled to a strong werewolf’s chest - not that he was ever going to mention that to anyone. Nope, not ever. No one could know, least of all the werewolf himself, because he was either going to be smug or awkward about it, and Stiles was not equipped to handle either of those moods. 

“A little over two weeks,” his future husband just had to remind him. 

“I know,” Stiles sighed heavily. “Sixteen days.” 

Was it weird that he kept track of it? Most grooms or brides probably had that countdown because they were looking forward to that day and actually did stupidly excited things like circle the day on their whimsical calendars and remind their partner and future spouse of how very close they were getting to their very special day. Whereas Stiles kept track because time passed both slowly and quickly at the same time here and he was still actively dreading just about everything about that day. And it was getting far too close. 

“You’ve been counting?” The Prince’s tone of voice was almost impossible to figure out. 

“You haven’t?” Stiles knew it was always best to bounce the question right back at him. “Are you going to be one of those husbands? Always forgetting our anniversary and the like?” 

Did it even matter? Did they even need to keep track of the day that his life was effectively over? Did he need to be reminded of it every year for the rest of his life? They would probably both be expected to remember and be appropriately sappy about it in public, because for some reason none of the supposedly smart people in this kingdom had figured out that they pretty much couldn’t stand the sight of each other - and never would. 

Not even Duke Peter had figured it out yet. At least, Stiles expected him to be the type to publicly gloat about figuring out something so massively important. Well, that or to plot something just as grand by himself as revenge for being outplayed and lied to. 

“How would I know what kind of husband I’ll be?” The Prince was frustrated again. 

“What kind of boyfriend have you been?” Stiles asked, because it was better than having to answer any questions himself. “Supposedly, that’s a good basis for a relationship. I wouldn’t know, being as pure and untouched and innocent as I am.” 

The asshole he was going to have to marry actually laughed at him when he said the word ‘innocent’, so it was good to know that things hadn’t actually changed all that much, even though Stiles occasionally found himself playing hot water bottle to a stupidly warm werewolf in the middle of the night - and secretly kind of liking it, when he could convince himself that it had nothing to do with his werewolf in particular. He usually managed to do that, so he allowed himself to enjoy feeling safe and comforted and  _ held _ . 

“Historically?” Prince Derek looked really fucking pained. “A gullible one.”

Wow, Stiles really did not want to touch that one, because that just seemed like a minefield just waiting to happen. Stiles was not ready to have one of his fiance’s many,  _ many _ issues blow up in his face. They weren’t the kind of people who had heart to hearts and talked about issues from past relationships - until he just made them those people by asking his future husband a stupidly personal question that he actually answered for some reason. 

Crap, what was he going to say next? He had to change the topic, and quickly. 

“I don’t even know if I’m a good kisser,” Stiles found himself saying. 

Of course he immediately face palmed because he was embarrassing himself, and that would have been bad enough without taking the whole werewolf husband thing into account - future werewolf husband, whatever. Stiles might have actually been getting used to that idea. 

“Probably not,” the asshole fucking shrugged at him. 

“Not like it’ll matter,” Stiles just had to be a downer. “I’d only be torturing you with it.” 

Because Stiles was never going to get to kiss anyone ever again. Not that he honestly knew what he was missing - which was a shit excuse and if anyone had said that to him he probably would have punched them in the face. Or at least tried to. Because just because he hadn’t been kissing a ton of people (just Heather, that one time), didn’t mean he couldn’t miss it. It didn’t mean that he didn’t get to be sad about never being allowed to kiss anyone else ever again. Well, anyone except his future husband, because…

They were getting married. And human weddings were sealed with a kiss. He still had no fucking clue about what happened at werewolf weddings - he was pretty sure he really did not want to know about any of that, ever - but he was about a hundred and twelve percent sure that they were going to use all the embarrassing human rituals just to sell that this was a meeting of two cultures. And to prove that they were just so in love. 

He was going to have to kiss Prince Derek. Derek. In sixteen days. Sixteen days. 

“Because we have to kiss,” Stiles was just now putting that together. “At our wedding. At a church, or werewolf church or whatever. In front of everyone. The whole world will be watching us looking super awkward having our first kiss. The whole world will know I’m a bad kisser.” 

That was a whole new level of mortifying that he hadn’t ever considered before - and he really thought he’d plumbed all of the depths of his embarrassment by now. He really and honestly thought the wedding couldn’t get any worse, and once again he’d been proven wrong. Because that was just his life now: it could always get worse. Quite the motto. 

But now that he had reached those depths, he could at least prepare himself - and his moron of a fiance - for what was coming. He had sixteen days to make a plan of attack (so to speak, because if he saw The Kiss as an attack, they were not going to get very far). 

“We have to practice,” Stiles quickly came to the right conclusion. 

It was the only thing that made sense. And yeah, neither he nor his future husband was going to be particularly happy about this sole solution - but it wasn’t like they had other options that did not end in ridicule and exposure of their fake engagement that would undoubtedly lead to a potential world war. Dramatic? Absolutely. Necessary? Sadly, yes. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Stiles had apparently finally managed to surprise his fiance enough to let out some actual foul language. “You want to kiss me? You? Want to kiss  _ me _ ?” 

Wow, apparently princes did know how to curse, and it was awesome. Stiles wondered what he had to say to make him do it again, with a recording device conveniently present - because if he was ever allowed to have a cell phone again, he was going to make this his ringtone. No, his text tone. The ring tone was going to be something annoying and obnoxious that was going to get stuck in his husband to be’s head for all eternity. 

Who said the torture had to end after marriage? 

“Want is a very strong word,” Stiles had to make that very clear to the idiot looking at him like he was crazy to suggest it. “It’s just a matter of the both of us not looking like idiots who’ve never kissed each other before at our  _ wedding _ ! That might look a bit suspicious, don’t you think?” 

Did Stiles want to kiss and be kissed? Hell fucking yeah. Did he want to kiss and be kissed by the Asshole Prince of Triskele? Not so much. Terrible idea - or at least, it would have been a terrible idea if it hadn’t been the only way they were going to be convincing as a happily married couple. The things he did for his Dad, honestly. 

Not that his Dad could ever,  _ ever _ know about this moment. No, not ever. 

“We  _ have _ never kissed each other before,” apparently the tendency to state the obvious was not just a Drunk Derek thing. “We don’t want to kiss each other. Unless we have to.” 

At least they were still very much on the same page about the no kissing rule - not that they’d actually ever officially established that rule, but they’d both made it pretty clear that they were going to get as little physical contact in as possible while still being convincingly in love. 

“Dude, I think we have to,” Stiles hated having to break that news. “For Queen and country, and all that bullshit. If we’re going to look at least somewhat convincing, we need this kiss to look like we’ve done it a million times before. And since there are limits to making a plan of attack without actually doing a dry run, we’re going to have to practice. With each other.” 

This was honestly starting to sound like the plot of some ridiculous Regency romance again. Why couldn’t his life just be an awesome spy movie where Stiles got to be a secret agent doing cool research and making out with a ton of hot people before he saved the world with his incredible brain and amazing skill at defusing bombs? 

Yeah, that sounded way more awesome than this arranged marriage plot. 

“I wasn’t going to practice with anyone else,” the Asshole Prince rolled his eyes. 

He’d better not have even thought about practicing with someone else, because that would have ruined the whole thing before they even got to the wedding. And both their countries hadn’t put all this effort into the wedding to have it ruined by the Prince’s philandering lips. 

Yep, there was that terrible romance novel verbiage again. Awesome. 

And Stiles was going to take a mental step back because he was already getting way too invested in the non-existent person that his future husband had not been thinking about practice kissing with. Did that make sense? Probably not, not at all. But Stiles was still going to not get mad at his future husband over something he hadn’t actually done. 

“You weren’t going to practice at all?” Stiles was somehow offended at that too. “You were going to be content to make a fool out of both of us while just standing at the altar gaping at me? You were going to do nothing at all because you’re a terrible kisser who’s terrible?”

Not a great argument there, but somehow it still pissed Prince Derek off like nothing else. Stiles was not sure if it was the terrible kisser bit, or the gaping at Stiles bit, or the making a fool out of the both of them bit - but either way, it totally worked. Even though he wasn’t quite sure what he’d been trying to get out of that comment, other than to piss off his future husband because he enjoyed it when they fought - and apparently Derek did too. 

But he’d gotten his wish, because the werewolf standing right in front of him was pretty damn pissed about one or more of the things he’d said. Now if only the idiot would tell Stiles what had actually offended him so badly, so that he could make note of it and just keep doing exactly that after they got married. Because angry Derek was… easier? It made sense?

Something like that, probably. 

“I’m not a terrible kisser,” apparently Derek had figured out what he was most offended about. 

“Prove it,” Stiles raised his chin before realizing how close they were. 

He had to take a step back now, right? They’d somehow gone from being on opposite sides of the room to basically screaming in each other’s faces, getting obsessed about whether or not they were going to kiss before the wedding. It was weird. 

“Are you goading me into kissing you?” Derek too noticed how close they were. 

“Maybe?” Stiles was only just starting to realize that might have been the thing he was doing. 

Apparently this whole practice kissing was now a hill he was ready to die on - and no, that was not something he’d been expecting. But it was still what was happening and now that he’d been so vehement about it, he certainly was not going to walk it back, because that would just make him look indecisive and weird. And he was only one of those things (weird, obviously). 

“You’re infuriating,” Derek told him. “Now hold still.” 

Great, His Royal Highness even resorted to orders in the bedroom. Well, yeah, that was definitely something he’d been doing this whole time, so Stiles probably should not have been in any way surprised by it. He was still going to be offended though. 

He wouldn’t be Stiles Stilinski if he wasn’t. 

“I’m not allowed to move?” Stiles tilted his head, ready to unleash some sarcasm. 

Also to show off his neck, because he vaguely remembered something about wolves considering necks a very special and sacred place on the body - because showing off your neck to a wolf showed that you trusted them enough. Something about vulnerability that Stiles just translated into ‘massive neck kink’ and ‘wolves and hickeys = OTP’. But it was totally working for him right now, so that was really fucking awesome. 

“No,” was all that Derek told him. 

And Stiles was absolutely going to say something about that, because he had a ton of things to say - except he didn’t because Derek put his head in those soft hands of his and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. And Stiles’ brain just kind of… went wobbly. 

But he refused to let Derek win, so he was most certainly not going to show that this was the most action he’d gotten in like five years. Even though this was barely more than a peck and totally not how a recently married couple was supposed to kiss. Not if they were actually in love, like Stiles and Derek were supposed to be. No, people who were desperately in love didn’t go for a quick peck, no matter the dramatic flair of Derek cupping his face during that sad excuse for an actual kiss. That was not going to cut it. 

“Is that it?” Stiles was less than impressed. 

“I didn’t want your purity to get compromised,” Derek was a sarcastic asshole and for some reason Stiles actually liked that about him now. “You’re too delicate.”

Delicate? Oh, Stiles was going to show him delicate. Stiles was going to show him by… kissing him again? Did that even make sense? Stiles thought it made sense, but maybe he was getting a little too riled up arguing with this idiot he was supposed to marry. The idiot who wouldn’t even actually kiss him, because he was too scared he’d like it. 

Oh yeah, that was definitely the button to push there. 

“You’re just scared you’ll like actually kissing me,” Stiles thought that was a solid argument. 

“Oh yes, that’s it,” Derek somehow managed to get even more sarcastic. 

Well he didn’t have to sound  _ that _ sarcastic. That was just rude. There totally could have been an alternate universe in which Derek actually wanted to kiss Stiles - and he even could have liked it in this universe if Derek had, you know, actually kissed him instead of totally wussing out. 

“Well, why  _ are _ you scared then?” Stiles was not above childishly goading his fiance. 

“Who said I was scared?” Derek was clearly offended, so that worked. 

Look, this might have been the first game of gay chicken (or practice kissing chicken) that Stiles had ever played, but he was pretty sure he was winning. Because he totally had Derek on the ropes here, and he was getting everything he wanted from this moment - except for another kiss, like, a real one. A proper kiss, not one that barely even qualified as one. 

“I did,” Stiles was totally gloating about his victory. 

“You’re wrong,” Derek didn’t even have a proper argument against it. “I am not scared.”

Only he was though, and his being weird about being scared was keeping them from kissing - which was just rude, okay? Stiles just finally wanted to know what it was like to kiss a guy, and he wanted to know what it was like to kiss a wolf, and he wanted to know what it was like to kiss his fiance, and maybe he also kind of wanted to know what it was like to kiss  _ Derek _ . And of course he wanted to be prepared for at least this aspect of their wedding. 

He wasn’t ready to think about the other parts of it yet. 

“Prove it,” Stiles was losing his patience a little, so he decided to step it up. “I’m sure you can do better. Unless you’re just a terrible kisser. Yeah, that’s probably it.”

It was just so easy to get to Derek - like, astonishingly easy. It was like every childhood and middle school encounter with Jackson Whittemore had prepared him for how to most effectively get to the Prince. Nice to see that the ridiculous bullying turned antagonistic allies actually had a purpose, but he was going for a different kind of atmosphere this time. 

“Shut up,” Derek was not princely, but still imperiously ordering Stiles around. 

At least that was followed by Derek pulling him close once again - damn, he was strong - and cupping Stiles’ cheeks in his hands again and… Now that was a kiss. That was an actual kiss, with mouths moving against each other, and all the passion and intensity he’d been hoping for ever since his first kiss with Heather had just been kind of… okay. 

This was a romance novel kiss, his mouth being plundered and Derek’s tongue tracing the seams of his lips and Stiles gasping into that feeling until all of a sudden his tongue was involved in the kiss too and this was not something they could ever do in a church. 

Especially not in front of his father. Stiles was going to be mortified if that ever happened. 

But he also wanted to move even closer to Derek, and his future husband just was not letting that happen at all. He was practically immobile while the idiot was trying to get a sense of the way Stiles tasted by licking into his mouth. It was hot at first, but it then got to be a little much - probably because Stiles kind of really needed to breathe by now. He wasn’t a werewolf, he had a human respiratory system, damn it. He needed to breathe regularly. 

So he pushed at Derek’s chest to try and get a second to breathe. Just a second, then he was going right back in until they’d gotten it right. There had to be a happy medium - one where Stiles was actually allowed to move. And be a more active participant in general. 

“Am I not even allowed to participate in this kiss?” Stiles totally wasn’t out of breath. 

Okay, so he really was, but he was not going to make that obvious to Derek. He was never going to win the kiss if he looked obviously out of breath and discombobulated. Stiles had to look blasé, like it hardly even affected him at all, even though his brain was still a bit melty and super fried at the same time. Yeah, he knew that sounded weird, but it wasn’t like he had any kind of vocabulary to describe it - because he’d never felt this way before. 

Probably because he’d never been kissed like this before. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” obviously Derek really was not sorry, “I thought your tongue in my mouth might have been you participating. Guess I was wrong. Please, participate.” 

Wait, did he do it wrong? 

He took a closer look at the seemingly unaffected Prince in front of him, only to realize that he could actually feel Derek’s pulse hammering under his fingers. The asshole wasn’t actually as unaffected as he was trying to appear, he was just attempting to fool Stiles into thinking that he actually had his shit together. Which he really fucking didn’t, because even though it might have been a little less obvious on him, he was just as into it, perhaps more. 

“Tongue?” Stiles rolled his eyes, because Derek was a goddamn hypocrite. “If anyone should be talking about tongue it’s you. What the hell were you trying to do, taste my tonsils? I know that you werewolves are obsessed with your own super senses, but this was bonkers.” 

It wasn’t actually  _ that _ bad, but Stiles was still absolutely going to rub it in. Because he was going to win this kiss - even though he was totally aware that a kiss probably shouldn’t have been any kind of battle. Though honestly, he kind of liked that it was, because if it hadn’t been at least somewhat of a fight, he probably would have worried that Derek was starting to give a damn about him, and that would be weird and bad and just… no. 

“Like you can do better,” Derek was actually fucking baiting him. 

“Watch me,” Stiles was always ready with a retort. “Or don’t, because you’ll go cross-eyed and that’s not a good look on anyone, but yeah. I’ll prove it. You hold still this time.” 

He hadn’t exactly expected for Derek to actually listen to him, so he came ready for battle - one that he knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t win. Because it wasn’t like a wolf was going to let a fragile human take the reins - even though that was just so rigid and boring and stereotypical. But Stiles was not the kind of guy who would let anyone even try to walk all over him, and he was not going to stop fighting until he got to take the lead too sometimes. 

And that wasn’t just about the kissing thing - though they probably weren’t going to do that a lot, seeing as this was just a practice session to make their wedding look good. It wasn’t like they were actually going to need to kiss in public after the wedding, right?

Stiles totally was not disappointed about that potential future. No, not at all. 

“Derek,” Stiles huffed at him, when he still refused to comply. 

If they were going to be more comfortable with kissing each other for their hypothetical future public kisses, it couldn’t just always be the same person initiating. Stiles had a hard time believing that all wolf-human relationships were dictated by the wolf - though to be honest, he hadn’t exactly found a lot of information about wolf-human relationships. Not that he had been looking, because that would have just hit too close to home, even though he probably really needed to know what kind of behavior he had to emulate. 

It was always good to have some kind of a goal to work toward, so Stiles figured that this still had to apply for a fake marriage. Or, well, a real marriage based on fake love. 

“What?” Derek seemed annoyed with him again. 

“Will you just let me have my Gilmore Girls moment?” Stiles managed to get one hand on Derek’s waist and one on his shoulder. “Would you just stand still?” 

He just  _ yanked _ . If Derek had been human, it would have just been painful and he probably would have smashed their heads together - but because Derek was a stubborn werewolf who was only mildly startled by the move, it worked exactly as Stiles had intended. Because it let him draw their mouths together into a kiss that Stiles actually had control over for a hot second. 

It allowed him to dig his fingers in, allowed him to maybe attempt a little more finesse in the kiss itself, starting out so very slow as he let himself explore Derek’s mouth. As he let himself try to figure out what he liked and what Derek liked and how those interests might intersect. 

Obviously this kiss was way better than the previous one, and not just because Stiles was the one initiating this time. It was better because it wasn’t their first real kiss, because they were both participating this time, and because while tongues did come into play, Stiles did not feel like Derek was trying to inspect his tonsils. It was a great kiss. 

But even great kisses had to end. Eventually. To make room for another great kiss, and then another one, until Stiles felt decidedly well-kissed, his lips puffy and his skin marked from the coarse hairs on Derek’s cheeks. Until he was pretty sure none of this was in any way appropriate for a church, so the practice hadn’t been useful as much as it had been secretly kind of  _ fun _ . Stiles hadn’t known that Derek could do that. 

There was a natural lull in the kissing when Stiles dared to speak up. 

“So, am I a terrible kisser?” Stiles was both fishing for compliments and just waiting for Derek to declare him the winner of this so-called kissing battle already. 

“Adequate,” Derek decided, and Stiles was getting ready to prove him wrong yet again when Dere just… changed his stance and stepped back. “Good enough for the wedding. I think we’ve got it, don’t you? Unless you need more practice.” 

Well, it wasn’t like they were actually practicing anymore, were they? Because while Stiles certainly was no expert on kissing, he knew better than to think that any of this was appropriate at his wedding, for the whole world to see. This was nothing like the chaste kiss that they were supposed to share at that time - and while they could absolutely bend the rules a little bit because they were supposed to be so damn in love that they managed to bond two nations together, they didn’t need to have Derek slipping him tongue broadcast in dozens of countries all across the world. That still would have been a bit much. 

Especially since he was pretty sure that he still didn’t actually like Derek as a person. He just wanted to win more than he wanted to keep him at a distance. 

Yes, clearly that was it. That was the only reason. 

“ _ You _ might need more practice,” Stiles was not going to let Derek win like this. 

It didn’t change anything. Derek had already turned back into Prince Asshole, into His Royal Pain in the Ass - the guy who hated Stiles and didn’t trust him. 

Well, fine then. Just sixteen days left of this awfulness before they entered into a whole new world of awful. Stiles could handle that, he was sure of that much. Even if this was the last time he ever kissed someone, even if he died at a ripe old age still a virgin. Even then. 

* * *

They had not done the kissing thing again. Why? Well, Stiles didn’t actually know, but he’d be damned if he was going to be the first to crack. He was not going to be the one who asked for more, and apparently neither was Derek (or he just didn’t want to do it again until he had to). 

So nothing happened. For ten long days, nothing happened. 

And finally, when something did happen, it didn’t even have anything to do with the kissing. 

No, instead it had everything to do with Stiles finally pulling his head out of his ass about some other vital aspects of the wedding. Namely, the actual wedding part of it. 

Because while he’d almost wrapped his mind around the whole kissing Derek in front of the whole world thing - and he figured that they might actually be able to make that look reasonably natural, or at least that they might make any weirdness look more like they were having trouble holding back rather than it looking like they would never want to touch each other. 

“So what does a werewolf mating ceremony entail?” Stiles hated himself so much for even asking this instead of just looking for a book. “Because I’m picturing a knock-down, drag-out fight in the middle of the church where the loser - AKA me - submits.” 

Was that speciesist, thinking that all werewolf ceremonies had to be half-feral and involve needless violence? It was just that he pictured it all dramatic and feral and almost savage, which was probably really fucking offensive. But even in the human world some barbaric traditions had continued, and most of the Alphas he’d met in Triskele seemed to really value traditional pack structure and values. Queen Laura and Prince Derek were actually basically outsiders because they were Royals who had turned wolves in their pack. 

That was how strictly Pureblood these people wanted to be, so of course Stiles was going to leap to the perfectly reasonable Death Eater conclusions and start to worry about his safety at his own wedding. Was there going to be a moment where people got to object to the wedding and they just had to win a battle against Stiles to have Derek for themselves? 

Not that Stiles wanted Derek in any way, but it seemed like he was the best option out of a bad bunch if that were the case. And Derek didn’t seem to want anyone else. 

“Wow, so you did read those books,” Derek seems almost reluctantly impressed. 

Which, he honestly thought that was just a decent attempt at a joke. Because if there would have been any actual danger to his life or his health or something, they probably would have warned him by now, wouldn’t they? Or had they just assumed that he was going to read up on it himself, or that he’d be informed by his own people (if he’d had those), while those people assumed his future pack would enlighten him? Was this all just a terrible misunderstanding that was going to end in Stiles bleeding all over the church? 

Good thing they hadn’t gone with anything white - no matter how virginal he was. 

“Which ones?” Stiles had to ask, because well, there were a lot of books. 

Derek didn’t respond right away, which made Stiles look at him more closely - and then he realized that Derek appeared to be avoiding his eyes. And there had to be a reason for that, so Stiles tried to be subtle about moving himself into Derek’s line of sight. There had to be some way to position himself that would not allow Derek to look away, a way that Stiles could actually see the idiot’s face and ponder what the hell he was thinking. 

Something amusing, seemingly, because there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and oh fucking hell Stiles was going to go to jail for murder after this. 

“You fucking asshole,” Stiles was going to murder him for ever letting him think that this bullshit was actually true. “And you know I would only lose because you couldn’t handle losing. Your fragile werewolf masculinity couldn’t handle losing to a human.” 

Sure, Stiles was not nearly as strong as Derek, and he didn’t heal nearly as quickly, but that didn’t mean that he was going to lose - because Stiles played smart, and he certainly did not play fair. Because what was the point of playing fair when that left you at such an extreme disadvantage? Sure, Derek probably wouldn’t dare to actually hurt him too much in this completely hypothetical fight, because that idiot was too much of a Hufflepuff to go all out against a supposedly weaker opponent. Shame for him that Stiles was a Slytherin. 

“I’m sure that’s it,” Derek was openly making fun of him now. 

Sucked to be him, because that was only making Stiles even more determined to prove it to him. He was not going to marry an idiot who thought he was better than Stiles, someone who thought that just because Stiles was human, meant he was going to lose the fight. Clearly he had not seen a damn thing of just how determined Stiles could be. 

“You wanna go?” Stiles felt every inch of the nineteen year old college freshman he was supposed to be, impulsive and not caring about the future. “I can take you.” 

Sure, it made him sound like a Gryffindor, all stupid and impulsive and why was his brain insisting on playing Sorting Hat at a time like this? Honestly, sometimes his brain was fucking marvelous, and sometimes it was just… this. 

Either way, he sounded like someone who really had not considered the consequences of baiting a werewolf - and yeah, maybe that bit was actually true, because he hadn’t completely considered all of the consequences, but he was still more prepared than his future husband was going to expect him to be. He was Stiles Stilinski and he was not only up for just about anything, but he was also ready for just about anything. At all times. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Derek seemed offended. “Especially not a week before the wedding.” 

Well, that was almost nice of him - because he probably wasn’t even lying about that. Not that Stiles would have been able to tell if he had been lying, but it was still a good thing that they weren’t fighting non-stop anymore. Stiles was more than content to leave most of their battles in the realm of verbal combat, because that was the one place he was always going to reign victorious - because it wasn’t like he’d ever let Derek have the last word. 

He certainly was not going to let him have the last word about this. 

“You seem awfully convinced you’re going to win,” Stiles was not just going to let this go. 

“Are you goading me?” Derek seemed torn between laughter and frustration, eventually deciding on a bit of both. “Stiles, I could really hurt you. And I know we don’t particularly want to get married, but I don’t actually want to murder you anymore. Not most of the time, anyway.” 

That suggested that there were times that Derek was up for murder - which was not surprising to Stiles at all, seeing as he’d had his fair share of violent fantasies about finally getting Derek the hell away from him. Though the fantasies he’d been having lately had been remarkably less violent in tone and more… absolutely fucking filthy, because his libido was actually the worst. 

“If you’re so confident you’re going to win,” Stiles just had to keep trying. 

“Are you both crazy  _ and _ a masochist?” Derek wasn’t just going to roll over either. “I could do lasting damage, and I’ve already had my teeth at your neck once. Consider that a good example of how an actual fight between the two of us would go.” 

Oh, Stiles vividly remembered the sensation of Derek on top of him, pushing him into the floor while Derek was inches away from subduing Stiles with a nip to the back of his neck. He’d dreamed of that very moment last night, and had to rush into the shower, biting his lip and hoping Derek stayed the fuck asleep long enough so that he could contemplate that moment to a mostly satisfying conclusion. And then stay in the shower long enough to be sure that he’d managed to rinse off any remnants of jizz from his own body and the shower walls.

Because there were some boundaries that he just was not going to cross - yet, probably, because they were not going to be able to avoid that for the rest of their lives together. But that was something Stiles was not going to worry about until he’d addressed all of his concerns about the wedding and won this stupid excuse for a fight that Derek was going to agree to after a few more attempts at whatever passed for chivalry around here. 

“Don’t you pride yourself on your control?” Stiles was really going for it now, no longer avoiding any potentially sensitive issues. “Don’t you wanna prove that you’re better than some fang-happy idiot who tries to get his teeth into an innocent human the second he’s startled?”

Yeah, that hit the mark, and he probably should have felt guilty for striking out where it was so obviously going to hurt. Only he didn’t, because he was an asshole who wanted to win this battle far more than he wanted to spare Derek’s feelings. No matter how secretly sensitive Derek was turning out to be - Stiles wasn’t going to step around every mine on that field. 

“Innocent?” That was apparently the hardest part for Derek to believe. 

“An innocent teenager who just wanted to know what his Dad was up to,” Stiles batted his eyelashes to further that narrative, “when he was rudely assaulted by a paranoid werewolf who couldn’t keep his teeth away from the first pretty neck he saw.” 

Yeah, he’d probably gone way too far already, but he sure as hell was not going to walk it back when he was right on the cusp of finally getting what he wanted. He was going to get Derek to consider him an equal if he had to completely break down their fledgling peace treaty to do it - and yes, he completely understood that was probably a little bit ironic. 

“Pretty?” Derek continued to repeat the most outlandish parts of his narrative. 

“Just fight me,” Stiles wasn’t even going to bother to argue it. “If you win, I promise to let you continue to make fun of my ignorance of official werewolf rituals. But if I win, you have to explain to me what our wedding is going to look like - in full detail. No lies, just truth.” 

Was it a great deal? Not particularly, but Derek was stupidly competitive and tired of the argument, so Stiles knew he was going to get what he wanted. Especially now that Derek was taking off his tight shirt - ostensibly to give himself a better range of movement, but probably also to distract Stiles from the fight. Or was that just wishful thinking brought on by that ridiculous chest he was now staring at? Because that wasn’t distracting at all. 

“You could have just gotten a book,” Derek was smirking. 

“Where would be the fun in that?” Stiles cocked his head, putting his neck on display. 

Derek’s buttons were easy to push, because he responded kind of beautifully to something like Stiles running his fingers down his neck and toying with the edges of his shirt to supposedly give him a little bit more room to breathe - not that he needed that. What he needed was for the tips of Derek’s ears to start turning red, and for him to be the slightest bit distracted when Stiles made the first approach - because he wasn’t going to wait for Derek to make the first move. 

So he leapt, letting himself essentially be dead weight taking Derek off balance and making it harder for him to make any moves without making himself really uncomfortable. And it almost worked too, because Derek had been off his game until Stiles moved seemingly out of nowhere - though Stiles had apparently been underestimating the werewolf speed quite a bit, because Derek managed to grab a hold of him before they were both knocked off their feet, leaving Stiles mostly held up by Derek’s strong arms under his thighs, squeezing gently. 

Stiles might have gotten a little distracted by those hot hands moving a little too gently, because the next thing he knew, they’d landed on the bed, with Derek’s weight pressing Stiles into the mattress as he was being straddled by a beefy werewolf. 

There had been several dreams that started just like this. 

“You’re quick,” Derek remarked as if Stiles wasn’t actually trying to struggle from underneath him. “Quicker than I expected, but not quicker than a werewolf. They trained you well.” 

Of course they did - the son of the President was not going to be walking around completely untrained, even though he was always accompanied by a team of Secret Service agents. He learned the basics of some martial arts, and how to use his lithe frame and relative speed and unpredictability to his advantage. And then they taught him how to fight dirty. 

“I’ll make sure to tell them,” Stiles smiled sweetly before raising his knee. 

Derek blocked him before Stiles could actually hit him in the balls, but Stiles had never expected to land that one - he was already thinking three steps ahead, to where Derek was too busy defending himself from the knee to the groin and the feigned swipe to the side of his face, that he never saw the real attack coming. Sharp bony fingers tickling his sides. 

Drunk Derek had revealed some things that Stiles had sworn never to share with anyone - including Sober Derek apparently, because he hadn’t seemed to remember most of the things they’d discussed that night. He barely even wanted to discuss the cuddling. 

“Stiles,” Derek was breathless and squirming. 

“Derek,” Stiles panted, flipping them over with all his remaining energy, before gently setting his teeth on a prominent vein in Derek’s neck. “I guess this means I win, don’t I?”

To make sure that Derek wasn’t going to flip the tables on him again, Stiles made sure to take another swipe at the sensitive spots near Derek’s ribs. Yeah, he just did that to make Derek admit defeat, not because the squirming was actually kind of nice. 

That was his story and he was sticking to it. 

“You cheated,” Derek had to argue with his results. 

“I won,” Stiles tried not to show that he was seriously out of breath. “Now you have to tell me what actually happens at a werewolf mating ceremony.” 

Because that was the only reason he’d done it - nah, not even Derek was going to believe that one. But it was still his prize, even though the victory was the true prize. And he was going to be able to remind Derek of this very moment for the rest of their lives together - and for once that phrase did not actually sound like a sort of death sentence to him. 

“I can’t believe I forgot to establish the rules,” Derek sighed. 

“Your loss is my gain,” Stiles was triumphant, sitting up to properly show his victory. “Your drunk alter ego did not have your filter. I didn’t even know werewolves could be ticklish.” 

That certainly wasn’t in the books, because most of the books were either written by wolves or had been approved by wolves before printing - so any of the less obvious weaknesses were mostly hidden or written between the lines somewhere. Stiles firmly believed that there was so much left to be discovered about wolves and their similarities to humans, even though they supposedly had their superior physiology. 

“I’ll tell you,” Derek sighed, as if this was truly a heavy cross to bear. “Do you want to be on top of me while I tell you, or are you going to find the meaning of the word personal space?” 

Oh, fuck, he was most definitely still on top of Derek, semi-straddling him as if this was something a whole lot less innocent than a fight. Or, well, could a fight even be called innocent when there was usually bloodshed of some kind involved? So not the point. 

“I’m pretty comfortable,” Stiles tried to boast to cover up the awkwardness. 

Was he lying? Derek didn’t show any kind of response, just when Stiles most wanted him to be obvious about what he’d heard just now. Sometimes he just wanted to have even a semblance of the senses that the wolves had - even though he rather liked being human and he didn’t particularly want to be a wolf unless it was a matter of life and death. 

Was that something that he had to discuss with his werewolf life partner before they got married and Derek assumed that Stiles wanted to be turned? Not that Derek could actually do anything about that without Queen Laura’s involvement, but it was probably still not a terrible idea to make it very clear to the idiot that Stiles was going to stay very, very human for as long as he possibly could. And not just because that looked better politically. 

“I’m not,” Derek finally responded, not looking Stiles in the eye. 

Lie? Was that a lie Derek just tried to tell him? Stiles just couldn’t be sure. 

“Fragile werewolf baby,” Stiles teased and carefully tried to climb off. “Now, just start talking about the last day of my life as a bachelor. Since we’ve already established that I can beat you in a fight, we don’t have to repeat that in public. What’s next?” 

At some point he was going to go too far and Derek was actually going to murder him for his insolence. But since he wasn’t quite at that point yet, he was just going to keep pushing until he got right to the edge - and then wait to see what Derek would do. Because he still didn’t have Derek completely figured out yet, and it frustrated him. 

“Handfasting,” Derek started out of nowhere. 

They were both on the bed still, Derek now sitting up against the headboard on Stiles’ side of the bed (great, he was going to have werewolf smell all over his best pillow), with Stiles near the foot of the bed, trying to make himself sit down somewhat normally. 

“Handfasting?” Stiles had to make sure that he heard it right. 

“Handfasting,” Derek said it again, as if that was enough information. “There will be a ribbon binding our wrists together. We’re supposed to keep it on until the end of the ceremony, until we’re alone and we can untie it or slice through it. Supposedly it’s a good thing if one of the partners slices it off with their claws. It’s considered a good omen.” 

That just assumed that one or both of the partners was a wolf with excellent control of their claws - or it assumed that both partners were wolves and any ribbon-slicing related injuries were going to be gone by the time both partners hit the bed together. Stiles was guessing it was that last thing, because usually the werewolf supremacy option was the correct one when it came to werewolf cultural traditions. Not that Derek ever saw it that way, of course. 

“Because it means you just want to be rid of them already?” Stiles was skeptical. 

“Because it means you value your partner’s freedom,” Derek was emphatic, vacillating between rolling his eyes at Stiles and trying to tell his story honestly. “It means that you cannot wait until there is nothing between you and your partner, that you do not need ribbon or string binding you together. That you choose to be bound together. That you can’t wait to start your life together.” 

Derek’s voice had softened, as if he was… remembering something? Quoting someone? 

Apparently his future husband was a fucking romantic, thinking that an antiquated tradition like this was meant for anything other than expediency and covering up some kind of lie. Because Stiles knew very well that a lot of traditions had started as cover-ups of some kind. 

“So why doesn’t everyone just slice it?” Stiles made a knifing motion with his left hand. 

Or, was it a knifing motion? He was probably doing a much cruder gesture than that accidentally, judging by the way Derek pursed his lips as if to hide his laughter. 

“You clearly have a lot to learn about holding a knife,” Derek just had to go there. 

“I don’t need a weapon to beat you,” Stiles knew he could get the upper hand back. “Now, can you just answer the question instead of being a smartass about it?” 

Yeah, that had been a terrible mistake, because Derek was actually snickering at him as soon as he’d said it. Because Stiles was about to marry an asshole in less than a week and he only had himself to blame for being laughed at like this. 

“The irony,” Derek was not going to let Stiles forget this either, clearly. “You telling  _ me _ not to be a smartass? Of course you’d be a hypocrite like that. I am not surprised.” 

This was not something that he was going to live down any time soon, so all he could do was change the subject at some point, or at least show Derek that he knew he’d fucked up. Maybe once he’d acknowledged that they could move back to the discussion about werewolf marriage bondage - and Stiles was never going to say that out loud to anyone any time soon. 

Derek would absolutely murder him for it, after making a disgusted face and pretending not to be secretly amused at Stiles’ impertinence. Because the secret was out now: Derek actually thought Stiles could be funny from time to time. And Stiles wouldn’t let him forget it. 

“Fuck you,” Stiles flipped him off with a grin on his face. 

“Not until we’re married,” Derek was annoyingly quick with that quip. “But before we get to the wedding night, we’ll have to spend the rest of the day with our wrists bound. It’s meant to foster cooperation, to show that you make equal partners, that you can share space and share food and be one pack. It’s a visible pack bond - the actual pack bond may be physical, but it is not visible to anyone, not even to the most observant wolf.” 

That was a whole lot of new information that he certainly had not been prepared for at all - and all of it was encapsulated by one fucking sentence about a phenomenon he’d never looked at too closely: the pack bond. It was mythical and seemed like a trope from a romance novel (yes, another one of those), and still it somehow seemed to be completely true and real. And also something that was going to be an actual part of Stiles’ life somehow, if Derek wasn’t once again making fun of him for not bothering to do the research. 

Yeah, Stiles has really been letting himself down with that one. It was one thing to try and pretend that none of this was happening and hating it so much that he didn’t want to know anything because he was sure that none of it was actually going to happen, but it was basically delusional to still think like that only six days before his wedding. 

“Pack bond?” Stiles had to ask, he just had to. 

“Your mystical connection to your mate and your Alpha,” Derek’s deadpan voice was making it really hard to figure out if he was being genuine or if he was being an asshole again. 

It was a pain in the ass that Stiles often couldn’t quite figure out if Derek was telling the truth or if he was determined to be an asshole yet again - but it was also kind of nice, because Stiles did better when he was kept on his toes. He didn’t want to have to worry that Derek was too nice and that Stiles was hurting his fragile little feelings whenever he dared to lash out. It was easier if they were both assholes from time to time and they could happily go on disliking each other for the rest of their lives. Stiles might actually be able to do that forever. 

“Look, I need there to not be any surprises this time,” Stiles hated saying it. 

Being vulnerable was the absolute fucking worst. Being vulnerable in front of his asshole wolfy life partner was even worse than the absolute worst, but apparently it was a thing they were doing now. Because this wedding had to look smooth, perfectly planned, and like a romantic culmination of their supposed secret courtship. There was so much pressure on this marriage, and therefore on the wedding, and therefore on both of the grooms as well. Mostly Stiles just did not actively want to make anything worse - that was how low the bar was this time. 

“I told you about the handfasting,” Derek didn’t even roll his eyes this time, even though Stiles was probably the most annoying fiance in the world at this point. “You know what a human wedding is like, so after that it’s the handfasting ceremony and then the claiming.” 

Well, yeah, the handfasting thing had been explained in the most basic of detail, so Stiles wasn’t actually worried about that any longer. And the normal wedding thing might have been a little intimidating, but that had nothing to do with not knowing what was going to happen and everything to do with having to promise to be faithful for the rest of his life. With promising himself to someone he didn’t care about, someone he hardly even knew. 

Wait, claiming? Actual fucking claiming?

“If you’re fucking with me,” Stiles apparently needed to give Derek a final warning. 

“Not right now,” Derek doesn’t make any promises he cannot keep. “I’ll try again later, but unlike some people, I know when not to be an asshole.” 

The pointed look at ‘some people’ was just the icing on the cake, but Stiles wasn’t actually offended by it - because damned if Derek didn’t get it right. Stiles was really good at being an asshole at all times (or just most times), and he didn’t usually consider if it was the right time to say something. Which was why he had a reputation as the wild First Son, when his life was actually mostly boring. Or, well, it had been until he’d gotten engaged to a werewolf. 

The very werewolf who was going to be claiming him - because Stiles was comfortable enough to say that he knew werewolves would never accept a human claiming a wolf. 

“Claiming?” Stiles was left dumbly repeating the word. 

“After the handfasting we have the claiming ceremony,” Derek was now reciting an entire tale seemingly off the top of his head. “The ritual of claiming is an ancient tradition that goes back to the first wolves to establish themselves on the American continent. The details of the ritual have changed over time, but the core of it stayed the same over centuries of use.” 

That did not sound anything like the way Derek usually spoke, so clearly it was something he’d memorized ages ago and was trying out again for this momentous occasion. It seems that Derek at least had read some of the books about werewolf weddings. 

“Did you memorize this?” Stiles was just snickering now. 

“My mother made me memorize some of her books when I screwed up,” Derek pointedly was looking anywhere but at Stiles at the mention of his mother, the late queen Talia of Triskele. “I always picked the less boring one. So I know a lot about wedding ceremonies, and a lot less about human history of the middle ages. I heard it repeats itself a lot.” 

Stiles could not recall Derek talking about his family all that often - because they weren’t really confidantes and it was just going to be weird if they just sat around sharing stories about their dead mothers and the rest of Derek’s family before the fire in the old palace. They just didn’t have that kind of relationship - or any kind of relationship outside their forced interactions and forced sharing of these increasingly small apartments (or was that the cabin fever talking?). 

“Well, you’re clearly not allowed to ever give me shit about my lack of werewolf history knowledge ever again,” Stiles scoffed dramatically. “My Dad would take my computer away if I was being punished. And I had to clean up the mess I undoubtedly left somewhere.” 

Because there was always a mess somewhere when Stiles managed to screw up - and back in the day that just meant doing more chores and cleaning out the garden shed or the attic or anywhere else his Dad just hadn’t gotten to with his increasingly busy job and the absence of Stiles’ mother. It was the most effective punishment available at the time, and usually kept him occupied long enough for Scott’s ‘no Stiles’ punishment to be over. 

He’d almost forgotten about that. 

“You, a mess?” Derek raised those brows of sass at him. 

“I know, it’s shocking,” Stiles went along with it, at least a little bit. “Now, claiming?” 

At some point they were getting to the actual explanation. Hopefully. 


	5. The Prince and the President's Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a wedding

Stiles hadn’t fully realized that he was actually getting married on this very day until he suddenly found himself in a stupidly ornate room in a stupidly ornate church, with Erica fiddling with his stupidly fancy clothes until she deemed his look ‘adequate’. 

“Thanks?” Stiles was pretty sure that was not a compliment. 

“There you are,” Erica grinned at him. “I was starting to wonder that they’d given you a lobotomy to get through all of this. Which would have sucked.” 

So maybe Erica was actually his friend now. She’d been his constant in all of the wedding preparations, making faces at him when he was threatening to completely zone out on the preparations, always keeping him distracted from the more serious discussions that his future husband just had to have just outside of Stiles’ earshot.

That reminded him, he still hadn’t been able to find out what that was all about. 

“All here,” Stiles tapped the side of his head. 

“Now that’s questionable,” suddenly his Dad was there. “Unless something has changed in the past three months. You’ve never quite had it all together up there.” 

Stiles leapt at his Dad, desperate for a true Stilinski hug. He hadn’t been hugged properly in ages (some apologies to Scott, but he just didn’t know how to do it right), and he’d missed the way that hugging his Dad somehow still made him feel young and small even though they were basically of a height these days. Being held by his Dad was the safest he’d felt since… since the night of his bachelor party, when Derek had refused to let go of him. When his fiance had kept him safe from the outside world as if he actually cared about Stiles. 

When his Dad let go, he immediately started fussing with Stiles’ suit. 

“Dad,” Stiles whined, because he suddenly felt like a chastised kid again. 

“You look good, son,” his Dad’s eyes were suspiciously shiny. “Like an adult.” 

Oh no, abort. They had to abort. Because this was about to get suspiciously emotional, and Stiles just blatantly wasn’t ready to say goodbye to his Dad and to his childhood, and he especially wasn’t ready to start thinking about the gaping hole in the proceedings. 

These kinds of big occasions always brought missing her into much sharper focus. 

“I am an adult,” Stiles huffed, because of course they had to have this argument again. “I’m nineteen, ergo: adult. I’m fully legal and everything. Wait, what’s the drinking age in Triskele?” 

It was just so much easier to crack jokes and make Erica left as she stood a bit further back, still protecting him. For a second there Stiles wondered if she’d been enlisted as some kind of extra protection, even though there were guards stationed outside of the door. More guards than he’d been expecting for what should have been a happy occasion - but it seemed that the reason for this marriage was more clear than it had ever been. 

Nothing had been fixed yet. It was going to take time. 

“Your Mom would have been so proud of you,” his Dad continued, and that was just…

“Not fair,” Stiles tried so hard to push down those tears. 

Because he could picture her standing next to his Dad, fussing with his hair - because while she’d liked his hair longer, she’d always thought he didn’t quite know what to do with it. That was why he’d had the buzzcut for the longest time after her death, because she was not there to fix it anymore when he’d gotten it all messed up. 

“She would have had a lot to say to your future husband,” the President of the United States was now openly crying, with a soft smile on his face the whole time. “I probably would have had to drag her from his rooms, because she would be trying to give him one final shovel talk before we were all legally family. And then she’d have come back to you and made enough dirty jokes that you’d forget you were ever nervous about this. She would have given you advice about the wedding night with words that would have made a sailor blush.” 

Claudia Stilinski - born Claudia Gajos - had never liked all the pomp and circumstance that came with John Stilinski’s ever rising star in American politics. She was foul-mouthed when startled, swore like a sailor when she thought Stiles couldn’t hear, and was the biggest tomboy he’d ever met. She’d been the perfect mother for a hyperactive son who loved getting dirty and making messes - because she was always right there with him. 

There were a million stories coming to mind now that he wanted to share with something, that he’d always sworn he would share with his own children when he got old enough to have those - and now he wouldn’t do that, probably. Sure, he’d never cared too much about children having to be biologically his, but he couldn’t picture bringing vulnerable children into this farce of a marriage. So that too was something he was going to have to give up, that too was going into the carefully locked box of memories and regrets that was getting ever more full. 

But he couldn’t get too sad and too maudlin now. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. 

“You would have liked her,” Stiles turned to Erica. “She would have taught you some words you’d never even heard before. Possibly even in Polish. She liked those ones best.” 

And that was a good thing, because little Mischief had been a little too fond of repeating things he’d heard his mother say. If the words in question were in another language, he was less likely to get punished at school - they just thought he was making stuff up again. 

“Guess you’ll have to teach me,” Erica gently nudged him. 

“I didn’t mean to bring down the mood,” John Stilinski visibly straightened up. “I just came here to tell you that I’m so very proud of you, Mieczyslaw. Stiles. I’m sure these past few months have been a lot to get used to, but you handled it all with grace.” 

Not really, but he was happy to let his Dad believe that he’d been just as composed and kind behind closed doors as he’d been in public. He’d been very careful to never cause any doubt about his stupid relationship with Derek - even Duke Peter had seemed to be convinced, especially fifteen days ago, when he sniffed at Stiles and grinned creepily. 

To this day, Stiles hadn’t dared to ask Derek what his Uncle had said to him. 

“Are you ready?” Erica turned to them, clearly having heard something. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Stiles hated the cliche, but it was the best he could do. “Glad you’re walking me down the aisle Dad, even though I still think it’s weird we’re in a church. Wolves don’t really give a shit about religion, and we’re basically atheists.” 

But that was a bit of a sensitive topic in a country that was supposedly secular and very firm on the separation of church and state. So it was not something that they were very open about, because religion had simply never been a very big part of their life. Which made it all the more weird that Stiles was actually getting married in a church. 

“Acoustics,” Erica winked. “Churches have the best acoustics - and a lot of room for the many people from all over the world who came here just to watch you get mated. And married.” 

Right, because they were doing both. A concession to the humans as well as the legally binding werewolf ritual - something that his Dad’s laws had helped achieve. Werewolf matings hadn’t been recognized as an equivalent of marriage until John Stilinski had helped change the laws that made it so. Something that was still a bit of a controversial law. 

It might have been legal now, but Stiles knew that there would be many people present today who saw the whole thing as savage - and who would happily try and run to the gossip mags to explain the ‘barbaric savage rituals’ they’d been a witness to. Even though matings were traditionally private events, attended only by the packs of both mates, symbolizing the coming together of the mates by having the guests be seated together the whole time. There was no separation between groom and bride, or bride and bride, or groom and groom, as the case may be. It was a meeting of the packs, a way to foster bonds when there might have been violence before this, which was why it was kind of apt for this wedding as well. 

“Let’s do this,” Stiles finally sighed, trying not to think about the politics too much. 

Stiles’ Dad left the room first, followed by Stiles, and with Erica taking up the rear. When they reached the hallway, John Stilinski made his son link arms with him as if he was actually a blushing bride - and Stiles visibly rolled his eyes at him for it. 

The Secret Service agents guarding them didn’t even flinch, and finally they made it to the doors that would lead them to the aisle, at the end of which Derek would be waiting for him. 

“Derek is going to drool when he sees you,” Erica said just before the doors opened. 

Which was why Stiles was halfway turned to snark out a comment at her when the doors did open and an entire church worth of famous people turned to stare at him. He turned to look ahead immediately, because being caught slipping would have been embarrassing. 

Stiles pointedly did not look at any of the people sitting in the pews - because he probably didn’t want to see the amused or horrified expressions on their faces. He didn’t want them to see him as a lamb being led to the slaughter, so he straightened his spine and looked ahead, first just eyeing the floor, until he felt ready to lift his head and look straight at his future husband. 

A shiver went down his spine when he made eye contact with Derek - apparently his fiance (probably the last time he got to think that) had been looking at him the whole time, with a completely unreadable look that not even Stiles was smart enough to understand. Even though he was damn well going to try and make sense of it, because what else was he going to do while walking down the aisle that would never end? 

There was very little frustration in the look, which was probably a new thing for Derek. There was a hint of pride there, especially when Stiles had his spine straight and walked like he was more confident than he actually felt. Even a bit of fondness, when only John Stilinski’s quick reflexes saved Stiles from tripping over a bit of uneven flooring. But mostly, Derek just seemed in awe, which was not a look that Stiles had ever had directed at him before. 

He was tempted to look behind him to try and find the person Derek was looking at like that, even though he knew there was no one there. He knew that it had to be him that Derek could not stop looking at, and so he winked at Derek, trying to break the tension. 

It made Derek roll his eyes - something that at least one of the many cameras would have caught, and viewers would probably describe as fond amusement. But to Stiles it meant something else: it meant that Derek had stuck to his reluctant promise not to lie to him on his wedding day, no matter how it might look to the outsiders. 

“Save the foreplay for later,” his Dad whispered under his breath. 

Did he know that most of the wolves in the church could hear that? He probably did, judging by the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Like father, like son. Clearly. 

Stiles knew he was gaping a little, and possibly blushing, because maybe he’d been prepared for the wedding, but he had less than zero clues about the wedding night, because he’d not wanted to ever bring that up with Derek. Because everything had been weird and awkward enough without them having to discuss their completely hypothetical sex life. 

That probably wouldn’t be completely hypothetical for much longer. 

Once again, Stiles was having thoughts that were completely inappropriate for a church, and it only got worse when he noticed Derek sniffing at him as soon as he got close enough. Yes, that asshole would be pointing out the things he could smell on Stiles right about now. 

“Take care of him,” his Dad actually handed him to Derek. 

“I swear,” Derek was overly solemn about his vow and Stiles was reluctantly charmed. 

Didn’t Derek know that the actual vows weren’t until later? Didn’t he know that he just had to say ‘I do’ and that would be enough? Didn’t he know that he didn’t have to make any promises to Stiles’ Dad, especially ones that he would never actually keep? 

Actually, wouldn’t that ping them as lies? Stiles wanted to look around at some of the other wolves to see if they’d noticed, but that would just draw more attention to the vow. 

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles tried to make those two words sound like three other ones. 

They just didn’t say that kind of thing out loud, ever. But his Dad absolutely knew what he meant, judging by the reappearance of the teary eyes that Stiles was refusing to be affected by - he was not going to be a weepy groom. No, he refused to let that happen. 

The initial part of the human ceremony was a blur. Stiles had attended many weddings before, and he’d always turned out the speeches and the mindless chatter about love being patient and kind - and he did so even now, because there was no love here, and no patience. Perhaps there was the occasional bit of kindness when they were out in the open together, but that was all there was to it. Corinthians clearly knew very little about what this marriage actually was. 

Because there certainly wasn’t any truth in this marriage - or in their nonexistent love. 

“I do,” Derek suddenly said, and Stiles watched wide-eyed. 

Because there had been no hesitation, just a slight hint of a tremor in the hands that were holding on to Stiles’ and had been for most of the ceremony. Derek appeared so sure for everyone who was watching, even though he was showing some concern only to Stiles - and Stiles just squeezed both hands and tried to muster up one of his best smiles just for this very moment. Because if this were real, he’d be smiling right about now. 

And because he made the effort to smile, and heard shutters and saw cameras flashing at the sight of it (because of course it was a perfect moment to put on the cover of the magazines), he almost missed his own moment to say the words. He was just too focused on making sure that Derek knew that Stiles too was ready for whatever was to come for them. 

“I do,” Stiles tried to sound as sure of this as he possibly could. 

Because he was, at least, sure of this being the right course of action, even though it might not have seemed like that at first. Because with this marriage, they were going to make a difference for wolves and humans, strengthening the bonds between the nations and races. Because Prince Asshole had turned into Prince Ally by now, and even though they were going to continue to be angry with each other from time to time (or almost all of the time), Stiles felt like their sacrifice might have been worth it. At least in this moment, he did. 

“Before you can be pronounced married, we must perform another ritual,” the voice of Duke Peter was louder than Stiles was expecting. “The ritual of mating.” 

Stiles was the one trembling now, trying to steel himself for what was ahead. 

The mating was a completely different cup of tea. Because everything was completely new to him, Stiles was forced to pay attention throughout the whole thing, just because he was stupidly worried that he’d instinctually do something wrong that would show they’d been lying the whole time and therefore ruin everything. Wouldn’t that be just like him?

“Stiles,” Derek whispered, trying to pull focus.

“Derek,” he whispered in return, turning to his almost husband. 

They didn’t really need to say anything else, not with so many people within earshot, trying to catch even a whisper shared between them as the supposed lovebirds. Just a reminder that they were doing this together was enough for now. Because they were together on this for now. 

“The handfasting is an ancient tradition,” Duke Peter recited as he held a bright red ribbon to the light. “Both partners offer up a vulnerable wrist and bond physically as well as mentally. They share this day together like they will share their life together, bonded. The ribbon will be tied by both Alphas, and will not be removed until the mated pair is alone and ready to start their life together. In the morning, they will be one pack.” 

Queen Laura got up from her seat, a beautiful crown on her dark hair. President John Stilinski followed, offering her his arm as they calmly made their way onto the dais, where Derek and Stiles (and fucking Peter, because someone had to be master of ceremonies for this part of the service) were waiting for them. The mere gesture of the linked arms had some people gasping, because these people were ridiculously dramatic and apparently didn’t realize until now that the marriage would mean a strong link between Triskele and the United States. 

“Your highness,” Peter offered one side of the ribbon to his Queen. “Mister president.” 

Stiles watched his father gently grasp the other side of the ribbon and move to stand in front of Derek’s side - because this was supposed to signify that Derek was welcomed into the Stilinski pack as much as Stiles was welcomed into the pack of the royal family, the one that had been known as the Hale pack for ages and ages. John Stilinski moved confidently, like he’d clearly briefed on the importance of this tradition, even though every single Secret Service agent in the church appeared to be holding their breath at the sight of their President getting so close to not one, but three werewolves without any agent there to support him. 

“Mieczyslaw Genim Stilinski,” Queen Laura gently held his offered wrist. 

“Derek Samuel Hale, Prince of Triskele,” John Stilinski did the same for Derek. 

The tying of the ribbon took longer than Stiles had been expecting - because there probably should have been werewolf strength involved, or would have been if this had been a normal werewolf mating ceremony. He wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that they were purposefully slowing it down so that the Secret Service agents could keep a close eye on any move that was made - so close to their President and his son. 

The knot was a little more elaborate than he’d been expecting, and Stiles knew there was a symbolism to that too - which was something that he would have to ask Derek about if he wanted to get any detail. Which he did, because the types of knots symbolized the wishes the binders (the pack leaders) wanted to share with the mated couple. 

Derek’s warmth next to Stiles was reassuring as the knot tightened and was then finally released by both Queen Laura and by President Stilinski (Dad, President Dad). 

“We hereby bind you,” the two said as one. “Two mates, one pack, one family. May mother moon bless you in all of your days and shine down into your hearts.” 

Oh. That was… That was actually really lovely, and Stiles looked up at Laura with tears burning at the corners of his eyes. Because she was his sister now, and she wished him well - and not just because she loved his husband. His  _ husband _ . Stiles had a husband now. 

Fuck, that was certainly going to take some time to get used to, even as they slowly managed to stand up from their kneeled position - with nary a wobble between the two of them, even though they’d never gotten around to practicing this bit. Stiles and his husband (yeah, he was going to be saying that all the time now, just to get used to it) had been far too busy going through the motions in these past few days of wedding prep to get a lot of time together. 

Stupidly enough, Stiles had almost missed the fighting. 

“I guess you can kiss now,” the Duke sighed heavily then, making all of the guests laugh with his senseless yet amusing dramatics. 

Right, because they hadn’t done that bit yet. And that was a bit they had practiced for, so it was surprisingly easy for Stiles to intertwine his fingers with Derek’s, keeping their tied hands together as much as they could. And it was even easier to tilt his face upwards just the slightest bit, to let Derek cup his jaw with his free hand (he had a thing for doing that, apparently) and run a soft thumb over the edge of Stiles’ cheek. So he was going to try and draw this out. 

Well, this was up to Stiles as well, and patience was not something he was all that familiar with, so he just leaned in and initiated their first kiss as a mated couple. It was better than he’d been expecting, warm mouths meeting and just a hint of Derek’s tongue before it was over - far too quickly, according to Stiles, even though he knew they had to keep this professional. 

He put a hand on Derek’s waist and pressed another brief kiss to his lips. Because he could. 

“That’ll do,” Duke Peter spoke up just when Stiles contemplated kissing Derek just one more time. “Next we will have the short version of the traditional claiming ceremony.” 

This was the weirdest bit according to Stiles, the most werewolf-y and the least human. Even the handfasting had a root in some ancient human weddings, but this next bit was far more feral (and would probably be considered savage by the dramatic humans in attendance). Because apparently that was all that Duke Peter was going to say, even though he was probably supposed to prepare the most squeamish of the guests for what was ahead. 

But he didn’t, and so Stiles and Derek had to handle this part of the ceremony by themselves. 

“Come on,” Stiles tilted his head, exposing his neck to Derek. 

His stupid wedding suit was far too buttoned up to do this properly - and he found himself mentally telling Derek to help him out and unbutton a few of the pesky things before he got to the proper claiming part of the whole thing. Because Stiles was suffocating in this fancy schmancy suit - he wished he would have been allowed to wear the more customary werewolf style formal clothing that allowed for a bit more breathing room in his neck business. 

“As you wish,” Derek only rolled his eyes a little. 

But somehow he got it, fiddling with some of the most annoying of the buttons until Stiles’ neck was completely on display. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief - even as the scandalized gasps echoed through the church once again - and didn’t even tense as Derek shifted in front of him for the very first time before using his fangs to leave an impression on Stiles’ throat. 

“Mine,” Derek said, the word coming out different through his fangs. 

“Yours,” Stiles agreed - strictly because of the ritual, of course. 

There was no blood, no actual damage - just an imprint of fangs that would fade all too quickly for most wolves to approve of. But it was tradition not to scar the human in a werewolf-human mating, no matter how rare that was. Or so Derek had told him. 

“I’m waiting,” Derek mouthed at him when Stiles looked back at his shifted face. 

The lack of eyebrows was particularly startling, and just kind of weird. But Derek didn’t look anything like the monster that Argent and his disciples used to describe - there was a lot of humanity still there, even though he had fangs and claws and a raised forehead that Stiles wanted to start cracking Buffy jokes about as soon as they were in private. 

“I miss your eyebrows,” Stiles mouthed in return. 

Because it made Derek smile, and that made it easier for Stiles to plant his face into Derek’s neck - take a surreptitious sniff - and gently put his human teeth on the vulnerable teeth. 

“Mine,” he said, in awe that Derek was actually letting him do this. 

“Yours,” Derek said so very clearly. 

That was the true surprise, something that they had not shared with any of the wolves in Derek’s protection detail. Because when Derek started to explain the claiming ceremony, and how it was traditionally bloody and scarring, Stiles had balked. He’d have done it if he absolutely had to, but he knew it would also scare many of the people watching - and he especially hated the only wolves allowed part of the biting. Because that simply was not how a marriage between true equals started - and somehow, for some reason Derek had agreed. 

Apparently it was why Talia’s husband had been turned before the wedding, so that they both got to take part in this ritual. But since that was not to be for Stiles… This was their solution. 

It was a good solution, because once Stiles was ready to face the world after basically saying ‘fuck you’ to werewolf tradition, Derek was smiling at him, wearing his human face again. The mark on Derek’s had already faded, but he had managed to let Stiles put his teeth to his neck without flinching or arguing in front of basically the whole world. It was the kind of submission that a wolf rarely dared to show so openly. 

Stiles was a little bit in awe of his idiot husband for bucking tradition like that, but that was not something that he was ever going to admit to him out loud. Because that would make it sound like Stiles actually respected Derek, and well… He couldn’t just admit that. 

“Please join me in congratulating the happy couple,” Duke Peter once again had to use his knack for interrupting a private moment. “To Prince Derek and Prince Stiles.” 

When Stiles managed to stop looking at his husband - nope, he still wasn’t over that - he saw his father surreptitiously wiping at some tears, and Laura doing something very similar. Their ridiculous plan had worked, somehow. The wedding ceremony had been completed, without any protests from either side, or any dangers, even though there had been many threats from anti-wolf hate groups (and undoubtedly some from werewolf supremacists, even though Derek had been suspiciously quiet on that front). It was done now. 

The first part of the plan was completed. And it had better work. 

* * *

The procession or the parade or all of the other official stuff was not going to be the thing he was going to remember from his wedding day. It all passed by so quickly, with Derek’s wrist bound to his and their hands clasped as they smiled and waved until Stiles’ cheeks were aching and his wrist didn’t want to wave any longer because it just fucking hurt too much. And then with Derek doing some werewolf magic Stiles had not known of before, sucking out all of the pain Stiles was feeling and taken it on himself - because Derek wouldn’t feel it for long, with his werewolf healing being what it was. Feeling like they were doing this  _ together _ . 

Their reception was supposed to be more private, and yet there were still a few hundred people present who all wanted to share their congratulations - even though Stiles was pretty sure that neither he nor Derek had ever held an actual conversation with these people before. Still, that was the price they had to pay for having an actual royal wedding: the many, many people who were trying to get a foot in the door either with Queen Laura or with President Stilinski. 

Finally, at the end of the reception, and a very awkward and uncomfortable bathroom visit with his very much still attached husband (oh fuck, they were actually husbands now), they got to spend time with only the people closest to them, in a smaller room designated for the use of only the closest friends and family of the happy couple. 

Though, would they actually be considered a happy couple? Stiles wasn’t feeling particularly unhappy at the moment, even though he was really fucking exhausted and kind of over being around people. But his Dad was here and his new pack was here, and Scott was…

Coming over with his date. 

“Congratulations, buddy,” Scott grinned happily. 

“Did they manage to sneak you in again?” Stiles was delighted to have his best friend here, at the most important part of this party. “I should thank Erica.” 

Clearly Erica had taken a shine to Scott at the bachelor party and she’d managed to bribe Scott’s way into the most exclusive party by way of Scott being the best friend of one of the grooms. Yeah, that totally sounded like something Erica would do, planning a heist even at a Royal Wedding - she did really enjoy paying homage to her nickname. 

“Thank your husband,” Scott corrected, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. 

It was kind of adorable that Scott was so happy for him - because last they’d spoke things ended a bit more awkwardly than Stiles had been anticipating, with the whole Allison situation blowing up like that. But Scott just wasn’t the vindictive sort, and so he was apparently happy to be here and happy to support Stiles even though he probably still wasn’t all too happy about Stiles choosing to keep his now husband a secret initially. 

Scotty didn’t hold grudges, but he also did not forget easily. 

“Derek?” Stiles turned to his husband (!). 

“He’s your best friend,” Derek tried to make it sound like it was no big deal. 

Stiles knew it was probably anything but, having a relatively unknown factor so close to the entire royal family and the royal pack. Well, not the entire family, because Duke Peter had appeared to have run off with a beautiful woman about an hour earlier, and Stiles hadn’t bothered to worry too much about what was going on there. Because honestly, the less he knew about what Peter Hale was up to, the better he felt. 

“You’re my favorite husband,” Stiles grinned dopily. 

“I’ll tell your other husbands,” Derek rolled his eyes, because he was an asshole of a husband. 

As if there were enough people who wanted to be with Stiles to get him any kind of harem - as if he would even want that. He just wanted the one partner that he got to live happily ever after with, but since he wasn’t really going to get that, he might as well learn to find some happiness into being married to someone who he could almost stand by now. 

“Scotty, I’m so glad you can finally meet my annoying husband,” Stiles tried to pinch at Derek’s wrist and failed, because the ribbon had gotten increasingly uncomfortable. “Derek, babe, this is Scott McCall, my best and only friend - until Erica, of course. Scott, this is my husband.” 

There was a happy sound from Erica at the mention of her name, though Stiles had honestly thought she was too busy dancing with Boyd to hear everything that was going on. He really should have remembered that most werewolves were excellent at multitasking, and somehow managed to keep track of multiple conversations going on in the same space. Derek probably knew exactly what Laura and Isaac were joking about. 

“Nice to meet you,” Derek actually managed to be the picture of civility. 

“You too,” Scott nodded, before pulling his date seemingly from out of nowhere. “And you get to meet my date, my beautiful girlfriend. Allison, this is my best friend. Stiles.” 

The girl was beautiful, and the dimples were almost as charming as Scott had described them to be - because nothing could completely live up to the way Scott described his Allison. She looked a bit uncomfortable at the situation, which made her seem a whole lot smarter than her idiot boyfriend. Which, at the moment, did not seem like a particularly difficult achievement. 

“You idiot,” Stiles knew he’d just killed the mood. “Allison, my apologies, it’s really lovely to meet you, and I’m glad my idiot best friend didn’t drag you into the reception line with Melissa, because I actually would have murdered him for that, but… We talked about this, Scotty!” 

And Allison just got more and more uncomfortable, because Scott had actually dragged her into the fucking lion’s den (or the wolf’s den, to be more accurate) and thought that the lion and the prey were just suddenly going to be friends. And Stiles was going to expand more on the simile, except he wasn’t quite sure who would be the lion and who would be the prey. It was the Argents, after all, who had cowardly assassinated almost the entire royal family less than seven years ago. Who had killed twenty-five innocents in the process. 

That did not particularly speak of prey. 

“But I got to bring a date,” Scott was basically pouting. “She’s my girlfriend.” 

Well, Stiles had originally offered the plus one before he’d known who Allison was exactly, and it would have been terribly rude to take it back. He assumed that Allison had also accepted the invitation under different circumstances, or even under a different name. He couldn’t imagine living life as an Argent was particularly comfortable at the moment. Though he didn’t think she would have actually been able to hide it, seeing as most of the country knew her face. 

Still, it just infuriated Stiles that Scott had completely disregarded his advice from last time, and he’d shown up to completely fuck up Derek’s reasonably happy mood. Even Queen Laura - who’d told him just to call her Laura already, seeing as they were basically siblings now - was starting to look more than a little concerned at the situation. John Stilinski was seemingly trying to distract Isaac from the argument, because the young wolf looked pretty damn uncomfortable about what was going on. And his Dad was always good at helping people. 

“And he’s my  _ husband _ ,” Stiles knew he was working himself up to either a serious fight or a panic attack - or both. “Scott, did you not tell her what she was walking into? This is not a very good place for her to be, and you should be so very happy that you’ve managed to keep her away from Duke Peter, because he’s dangerous and he hates the Argent family more than anyone. He’s a very angry man. Derek is a puppy compared to him.” 

Stiles still got a lot of bad vibes from Duke Peter, and he was extremely happy that the man was off tormenting someone else - or just sleeping around again and causing some kind of scandal that way. And Scotty either had no fucking idea about just how dangerous wolves could be, or not enough common sense to realize that not everyone was as ready to let bygones be bygones as he was. Though honestly, when thirty-six people died because of sheer bigotry, one couldn’t really call that something as silly as ‘bygones’. That was just murder. 

Yeah, it was probably the latter. Because Scott always tried to see the best in people, even though they often weren’t worth it. Stiles just hoped that Allison would be. 

“But Stiles,” Scott tried to stop him in his tracks. 

“Nope, I’m not done,” Stiles refused to let himself be interrupted, not even by his best friend, the idiot. “At the bachelor party I told you how terrible of an idea it was, and you still did it. You still brought an Argent into my wedding. Now, she’s clearly the loveliest one of the bunch, and I’m trying so hard not to judge her based on her more psychotic family members, but that doesn’t mean that everyone will be able to see the distinction. Sure, it would make a lovely picture to have the hatchet buried, as I’m sure you’ve imagined, but that’s not what’s happening here.” 

It was a fine line to walk, trying not to insult Allison Argent (even though the relationship between the Argents and the Hales could hardly get worse, it was still the smarter route not to even go there) but also trying to stand up for his husband and respect the boundaries that Derek had never even dared to mention aloud. Because there was so much more to the palace fire than most of the world had been told - Stiles was certain of it, even though he didn’t have any evidence of it at all. He just knew, and he knew it had something to do with Derek. 

His husband, who’d gone pale and started outwardly trembling, even though Stiles was basically still attached to him and was trying to steady him. His husband, who was clearly traumatized beyond all reason by the fire, and had every right to no longer allow the Argent family entrance into anywhere he was going to be, basically. 

Derek had more than earned the right to disavow the entire family, but he was not going to say anything. So Stiles would do it for him, because just this morning he’d vowed to stay by his side in sickness and in health, for better and for worse. And Stiles kept his promises. 

“What’s happening here is that you’re upsetting my husband,” Stiles didn’t even flinch at the death grip Derek had on his hand. “And I’m sorry, but that means you need to leave.” 

Fuck, he really did not want to have to do this, but he would for Derek. For this idiot asshole of a husband who’d mostly just been a pain in the ass to Stiles, but who didn’t appear to be defending himself. And Stiles hated seeing this mute, pale, tired and petrified version of his sarcastic husband - the guy who never let Stiles get away with anything. 

“But you’re my best friend,” Scott clearly had not thought this far ahead. 

“And you’re mine,” Stiles was not going to deny that. “But you fucked up, and you didn’t take my opinion into account at all, on my wedding day. Do you have any idea what could have happened if people had found out about this earlier? Do you have any idea how many people were waiting for anyone to show up who would want to hurt us? Because her granddad may be out of the game, his disciples still roam free. And they’d hurt Derek just for being a wolf, and I’m not going to let that happen. Not now, not ever. Because I care about my stupid husband.” 

Judging by the lack of response from any of the werewolves in the room, Stiles hadn’t even been lying about that last bit - which was not as much of a shock as it probably should have been. Was this what Stockholm Syndrome felt like? 

“Thanks?” Derek managed to say. 

A whole word. Stiles was stupidly proud of him for trying to be a shit even now. 

“Stiles,” Scott was still just standing there, even though Allison tried to pull him away. “I can’t believe you’d just send me away. From your wedding. I was gonna be your best man, remember? We decided that ages ago. But ever since you started dating him...” 

Of course Scott had been feeling more than a bit neglected for a while now, even though he’d been doing much the same since he started dating Allison. It was just that Scott had counted on always being Stiles’ number one priority, even though he couldn’t say the same himself, and he was having trouble dealing with the fact that he was going to have to share Stiles with someone he didn’t know and hadn’t personally vetted and approved of. 

It was a lot to deal with, but Stiles was not going to change his mind. And he certainly was not going to let Scott put all of the blame on Derek, no matter how much easier that would have been for their friendship. Because that wouldn’t have been fair. 

Ugh, he couldn’t believe he was actually taking Derek’s side for anything. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to be my best man,” Stiles knew that one was probably on him. “But you do not get to blame this on Derek. Because he doesn’t deserve that. I’ve probably been more of an asshole to him than I could have been about this wedding, because I was stressed and nervous and frustrated and a bit lonely. But he just… He acted like an asshole right back and didn’t let me get away with my bullshit and yes that annoys me like a lot but I also respect the hell out of him for it. Even when he’s being an idiot.” 

Stiles was exhausted, and he really hoped that this made sense and sounded lovey-dovey enough while still being completely fucking true. And wasn’t that just pathetic? Because he could now honestly say that he respected the hell out of his stupid husband, even though Derek still annoyed the crap out of him just by existing sometimes. 

“That’s love, bitch,” Erica shouted, and Boyd was ready for the high five. 

Honestly, Stiles loved Erica. And it was probably not the realization of love he was supposed to have at his wedding if this had actually been a Regency romance novel, but it was the only one he had. And he was pretty damn happy about it. 

“Alright, son,” John Stilinski was going to intervene after all, it seemed. “It seems that you two won’t be able to fix this tonight, so how about you and your lovely date go back to the hotel and you and Stiles will take some time to think about things. This is not a great time for it.” 

That had taken a bit longer than Stiles had been expecting - usually his Dad was quick to intervene (or to have someone else intervene for him) if he saw something that might escalate into actual conflict. This time he let Stiles have his say instead of shushing them both and never actually letting them hash it out, even though the conflict had been building for a while now. So this was honestly kind of freeing, feeling like a mature adult allowed to handle his own shit. 

“I’ll walk with you,” Isaac offered, almost demure in comparison to his usual sass. 

“Thank you Isaac,” Stiles made sure to tell him. “I really appreciate that.” 

The room felt less tense the second Scott and Allison walked out the door, and Stiles felt like he was finally going to be able to start taking normal breaths again. So he did, trying to steady his breathing and clear his throat a couple of times to get rid of his dry mouth and the urge to start screaming a little bit. And throughout all of this, he held on to his husband’s hand, which was still a bit clammy in his, though it was no longer trembling nearly as much as it had been. 

Still, this was not going to be a thing he was going to allow to happen at his wedding. 

“We need a minute,” Stiles told all of the wolves. “Can you all plug your ears and hum to yourselves or something like that and let me talk to this dork in peace?” 

That probably wasn’t possible, but they weren’t actually going to leave the room, and even if they did there were security officers of some kind outside of the room still - because of his Dad, naturally. Privacy was impossible, and Stiles was almost starting to get used to that by now, and at some point he was going to figure out how to get a little bit creative with it. 

Starting right now, because Derek probably really needed some time to breathe. 

“I’m good now,” Derek told him. 

“Lie,” Boyd calmly stated. 

And that was not the wolf Stiles had expected to call him on it, but he certainly appreciated it nonetheless. He’d been expecting a comment from Erica or from Que- from Laura, not from the quiet and steady presence that Boyd had turned out to be. 

“Thanks Boyd,” Stiles grinned happily, even though Derek was glaring at his packmate. “But seeing as this idiot is once again capable of murder brows, I think we can let it slide just this once. But feel free to use your werewolf advantage against him more often. Because I’m not actually a living lie detector like most of you guys.” 

The pack seemed okay with that, at least, and it seemed to calm Derek down a bit more as well - though Stiles was not sure when he’d started to be able to read Derek like that. Was that a magical werewolf marriage bond benefit? Or was that the kind of bullshit that Derek tried to make him believe only to laugh at him when Stiles considered it for even a second? Derek had mentioned something about the bond being physical and not visible, so there must have been some truth to the mate bond stories - but they probably did not involve telepathy. 

Though that would have been so fucking cool (with anyone but Derek, probably). 

“You have to talk about it at some point, Der,” Laura was the only to interrupt this time. 

“And I will,” Derek promised, without setting off a chorus of ‘lie’ from his pack. 

So clearly he did intend to talk to Stiles eventually - probably when they were old and grey and Derek couldn’t actually avoid it any longer. But still, the intent was there, and that was probably enough for now. Because it had been a fucking Day. 

Capital D completely intended. 

“That must have been difficult,” John Stilinski stepped up to talk to them. “I think you both handled that very well. Very mature, son. Unexpectedly so.” 

That was almost a compliment, which was really saying a lot. Not that Stiles never felt appreciated by his Dad, but this was just the first time that the man had considered him a proper mature adult. So while it was more of a compliment-insult combo (because that was just how they dealt with their feelings), it was still kind of good to hear that his Dad had actually seen how much of an effort Stiles had been making to do a little bit better, at least in public. 

“Thanks Dad,” Stiles sighed and made a face. “I really appreciate that.” 

It was still such a weird conversation to have while he was basically connected to his husband - by that surprisingly strong red ribbon that still didn’t seem to have any give, even after a full day of Derek and Stiles stumbling into an awkward peace treaty (because once you’d shared neighboring urinals, and okay nope he wasn’t going there). It was like the ribbon was magically enhanced - and let’s face it, that did not seem all that unlikely - and it was going to be more challenging than Stiles expected to get rid of the thing after everyone left. 

And they had to start worrying about the wedding night. 

_ Fuck _ . Stiles was not ready to worry about that. 

“You’re a good man,” John Stilinski turned to Derek now, and Stiles just knew that things were about to get supremely embarrassing for the both of them. “You’ve done right by my son every step of the way. I know how those rituals were supposed to go, and for you to go against years of tradition to appease him… It means a lot. Thank you.” 

Derek clearly had not been ready for a sincere John Stilinski speech either, because the tips of his ears were starting to turn red again, and he looked down instead of facing the President properly. Honestly, Stiles could not blame him one bit for looking away from the sincerity. 

“Dad,” Stiles whined, because ugh, no, embarrassing. 

“I’m just appreciating my son-in-law,” John Stilinski knew exactly what he was doing. 

John Stilinski definitely knew that he was currently actively being The Worst, because he was smirking a little bit already. It was probably at least a little bit hilarious to him that his son and his reluctant husband were getting along much better than said hot-headed son had said they would when the marriage idea had first been suggested. Back then Stiles had pretty much promised to hate ‘that Asshole Prince’ for all eternity, and his Dad had told him that he was going to be eating those words at some point in the near future. 

And now he was probably going to make Stiles do that, out loud. Time for a diversion. 

“Be prepared to be called ‘Son’ a lot,” Stiles warned his husband. “To the point where you might as well consider the idea that he’s forgotten your actual name. Until you’re in trouble.” 

It was kind of funny to imagine his Dad chiding Derek and using his full name - even though Stiles was fully aware that it wouldn’t happen. Not like they were still kids, because they weren’t kids anymore. They were basically an old married couple already, and they were supposed to act like it too - like they were boring and settled and hopelessly in love. But most of all, they were expected to act like mature adults in public, and Stiles was already dreading that. 

But at least for now, he could be a kid making fun of his Dad. At least for now, he could enjoy seeing the smile on his sister-in-law’s face as she watched Derek cringe way too obviously, and he could enjoy watching Boyd and Erica do a perfect tango to a song that didn’t sound a damn thing like a tango. For now, he could enjoy feeling like he wasn’t completely alone in this, Derek’s hand in his again, fingers intertwined. 

For now he could pretend not to worry about what happened next. The wedding night was getting ever closer, and he was pretty sure he was not ready emotionally for any of that. So he metaphorically put a bin in the idea and rolled his eyes at his Dad instead. 

“Come on, husband,” he tried to move the wolf who could not be moved. “Our turn to dance. With all of this nonsense, we still haven’t had that first dance we never practiced.” 

Thank fuck that there hadn’t actually been a first dance in front of all of the people eyeing them too closely for every misstep and stubbed toe and off-beat flailing (yes, all of those would have been Stiles’ and Stiles’ alone). He never wanted to perform in front of that crowd, but perhaps he could stand to do it in front of this one. Because he wouldn’t have to perform, they’d cheer for all the mistakes - and Derek wouldn’t let him fall. Much. 

Oh, fuck, Derek was totally going to embarrass him, wasn’t he? 

“Try not to die before the wedding night,” Erica reminded him when he almost tripped over his own feet. “You don’t want to die a virgin, do you?” 

Oh,  _ fuck _ . 


	6. An Ideal Husband, my ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a wedding night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I earn my M-rating, people.

Their apartments had been decorated beautifully just for this very night. Nothing looked the same, even though Stiles knew these rooms like the back of his hand by now. He’d certainly been forced to spend more than enough time in those rooms in the past few months. 

“Are those actual rose petals?” Stiles just had to ask. 

“Nothing but the best for the happy couple,” Derek put on a fake grin as he imitated what the staff must have said. “I’m just glad it’s just the petals - if there had been actual roses, you would have stepped in at least three and cut up your foot, badly.” 

Yes, having actual roses on the floor would have probably looked super romantic - for about five seconds until Stiles stepped in one and left blood all over. Which was totally going to make people worry about how Derek was treating Stiles on his wedding night if anyone smelled anything about that embarrassing situation. Even now, Stiles was probably going to end up with the petals stuck to him in seriously odd places - they’d absolutely be inside of his boxers in the morning. He didn’t know how they’d manage, he just knew they would. 

“You are not wrong,” Stiles was only slightly disappointed to say. 

There were no candles, even though a truly romantic honeymoon suite would involve a lot of candles to provide mood lighting. Stiles wondered about their absence for a few seconds, until it hit him like a bat to the face: of course Derek was not going to want anything too flammable around him - not after what had happened to his family. So it was just rose petals and clean sheets and everything in the room freshly cleaned and smelling of nothing - because Stiles wasn’t the only thing that was supposed to be claimed that night, apparently. 

Speaking of claiming - not the official, public part of the claiming, but the part that was supposed to happen behind closed doors - Stiles was going to have to start thinking of ways they could feasibly fake that for the pack and the rest of the kingdom. 

“So, what’s next?” Stiles had to ask. “This is our wedding night, after all. I’m pretty sure that people will be expecting a lot from us tonight - enough evidence to last until the morning.” 

He could almost imagine the constant sniffing if he even dared to leave the apartments in the morning - or the day after, or however long it took for the scent of sex to remain on the skin after several thorough showers. How good were the wolves at smelling the exact details about what had and had not happened between him and Derek? Like, how close a facsimile were they supposed to create with whatever it was they were going to do on their wedding night?

There probably had to be boundaries, and they probably had to establish them quickly. But Stiles just had no idea where to start, because his information about sex and mating and claiming was mostly based on porn and taking himself in hand. That did not apply here. 

“I know,” Derek said, a bit more snippy than Stiles expected after their recent streak of mostly cordial behavior. “I’m trying to think of something. I really am. But I’ve got nothing so far. I’m sorry I’m not as smart as you. I don’t have anything figured out yet.” 

Part of Stiles wanted to be angry with him, because Derek was the one with all the information here - he was the one who knew exactly how much wolves could smell and what they would expect after a royal wedding night. Sure, they wouldn’t need to dirty the sheets with blood like in an actual Regency romance (if the heroine was not ready to lie with her dashing husband), but there was going to need to be some kind of faking. They’d need to be willing to get dirty. 

All that Stiles could think of was ways to make him reek of Derek without actually having sex - and that involved more comeplay than he was expecting for his wedding night. But that also didn’t even take the whole claim thing into account - because there was a private part to that ritual that had to be completed on the wedding night. Or they were risking an annulment, and that was the last thing they and their respective countries needed. 

“I don’t either,” Stiles admitted. “Nothing that would cross boundaries between us that we really cannot uncross. Like, I’m a pathetic trembling virgin and you’re the sexy wolf prince and my life is actually a Regency romance novel right now. It’s kind of ridiculous. I’m sure there’s some nefarious creep lusting for me from the shadows - because there always is in those books - and there’s a bigger plot that the author has only hinted at, but I don’t have enough information to put that together either. So I’m just playing the timid virgin while I wait for you to tell me everything I need to know about werewolf scenting abilities and private claiming.” 

The look on Derek’s face as Stiles pondered the plots of Regency romance novels was one for the ages, like he couldn’t actually believe that this was the idiot that he had married, but he was also surprisingly interested in the information. Probably because he was desperate and hoping there was a trick to the genre that they could utilize here. There wasn’t, not for this. 

Because Regency romance novels didn’t usually have a ton of werewolves - and if they did, Stiles had clearly been reading the wrong books. 

“Werewolves do not have knots,” Derek started. 

“I’ll try to contain my disappointment,” Stiles sighed heavily, trying to pretend he was actually disappointed about that. “I’d worked that out. So if knotting is not involved, how are we supposed to prove that I’m actually properly yours, werewolf-style? The whole display at the church was just a preview, I know, but is it just sex, or just biting, or both?” 

It was way too late to start getting into the books now, so Derek was going to have to be the one to explain it to him, no matter how embarrassed he clearly felt about this. He’d barely been able to look Stiles in the eye since they’d entered the room and locked the door behind them - because they were not going to let the awkwardest of all awkward wedding nights be interrupted by a random staff member or pack member or family member. 

Yes, Stiles was still worried about creepy Duke Peter showing up again for no reason. 

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” Derek was actually blushing. 

Honestly, this was worse than his Dad trying to give him the birds and the bees talk at age fourteen. First of all, Melissa had already dragged him into the talk she’d given Scott about a year before, and it had been both mortifying and educational. And second, Stiles had then awkwardly explained to his Dad that he was interested in both birds and bees (or whatever awkward metaphor he’d used at the time), and it turned into his Dad being awkwardly supportive and Stiles explaining to him that his experience was purely theoretical. 

He hadn’t dared to explain the reason for it being purely theoretical (this was pre kissing Heather, after all), because it was just going to hurt his Dad’s feelings when he found out that his son was the most unappealing guy at his school, and he’d mostly been too weirdly obsessed with Lydia Martin to even consider anyone else. He’d managed to refrain from stalking his classmate, but looking back on it, he knew he handled that crush poorly. 

And wow, this night was just a constant reminder of the epic list of his failures, wasn’t it? 

Being honest with his husband kind of sucked so far - and definitely not in the good way - but he was hoping that they’d eventually hit upon some sort of a plan. Because they were going to have to find something that was going to work enough for them to fake it. 

Though… Did they really have to fake it? 

“I’d be willing to give up my virginity for the cause,” Stiles offered as if that was actually no big deal, and it shouldn’t have been. “Because I don’t want to die a virgin, and I can’t exactly sleep with anyone else anyway, and you know they’re going to be asking me about my status in the morning, because I haven’t been able to keep my mouth shut about that.” 

Yes, he was fully aware that he’d pretty much dug his whole grave when he’d started broadcasting his virgin status to his entire pack, but there was nothing to be done about that now. Right now they just had to find a way to get Stiles to a convincing non-virgin status so that he could honestly tell people that he was no longer pure. 

Oh god, that sounded fucking disgusting. 

“You shouldn’t have to,” Derek just looked pained. 

Great, so clearly Stiles was the least attractive person in the country of Triskele, having the appeal of a boiled potato. No, at least boiled potatoes got eaten, and Stiles… Was not going to make an eating out pun about this when he was just trying not to make this worse. 

“It’s not as if it’s a sacrifice, dude,” Stiles really wanted to roll his eyes at Derek to his face, but alas Derek was hiding again. “You’re the most attractive dude who’s ever wanted to get all up in this - if you even want to get all up in this - and virginity is mostly a social construct anyway. I’m not a virgin because of any religious reasons. I didn’t have a purity ring like one of those Jonas Brothers, even though they’re old and married now and didn’t exactly keep their promise.” 

Off topic? Yes, definitely, but Derek was not giving him a whole lot to work with, and when left to ramble, Stiles was inevitably going to get into a font of embarrassing knowledge he somehow had. And this wasn’t even some of the most embarrassing things he could have said, because there were details about circumcisions that would just get Derek to a point where he left the room and never came back. Because apparently they were immature kids who couldn’t actually talk about their bodies or sex, even though they were fucking married. 

“Jonas Brothers?” Derek just dumbly repeated that. 

“Yeah, Big Guy,” Stiles was ready to babble on about random stuff at any time. “Three brothers in a sort of boy band, except they didn’t dance and they played their own instruments. Disney Channel type kiddos way back when, but they grew up pretty good, and the new stuff is surprisingly catchy. I’m not  _ surprised _ their music never reached Triskele, just disappointed.” 

Look, some of those songs were fucking  _ bops _ , okay? Not that Stiles had ever looked up their music and listened to anything other than the songs topping the charts, of course. Nope, that never happened - and as long as no werewolves asked him about that and Scott kept his stupid mouth shut about that month he kept finding Stiles singing along to everything from Shelf to A Little Bit Longer to Tonight… As long as that didn’t happen Stiles was safe. 

“Why are we talking about this?” Derek sighed heavily. 

“Because you’re too embarrassed to look me in the eye,” Stiles was going to keep the conversation going until Derek felt secure enough to look at him. “Oh, When You Look Me In The Eyes - that’s totally a Jonas Brothers song. I think. But that’s not relevant.” 

Stiles did not think that. He totally knew the song and would have sung it out loud if he hadn’t been completely sure that it would leave Derek even more scarred by this conversation than he already was. Clearly Derek was already never going to recover from even the insinuation that he was ever going to have to have sex with Stiles, so that was a real confidence booster that he did not want to contemplate even further. Because while he’d finally managed to tie someone to him (for the rest of his life even), Derek was never going to actually want him. 

“I’d be totally okay with us having sex tonight,” Stiles tried to lay out all his cards on the metaphorical table. “If it’s required for the claiming stuff, or to prove we’re properly married, or just because you’re not completely hideous and I think I’d like sex. But you’re looking at me like you’d rather kiss Scott, so I’m going to be assuming that it’s a no go.” 

Was that a proper explanation of the look on Derek’s face? Pretty much, because Derek honestly looked like just the thought of having sex with Stiles was causing him physical pain - or just having a conversation about it was hurting him. Honestly, just lovely. 

“I don’t have sex with humans,” Derek was still looking away. 

“Well, you’re not turning me into a werewolf,” Stiles huffed and then kicked off his shoes because he might as well get comfortable. “That’s a bit more permanent than one terrible attempt at sex - I heard the first time is supposed to be a bit weird anyway. And also, excluding an entire species is just kind of… All humans? Only werewolves? Like, dude, what is it that does it for you? Is it the weird forehead and the lack of eyebrows? Or the fangs?” 

The wedding suit was even less comfortable than it had been this morning, and it was no use trying to undress any further without Derek’s cooperation, because they were actually still fucking tied to each other with that damn ribbon. And honestly, should that not have been the very first thing they fixed when they entered this damn room? 

“I don’t trust humans,” was all Derek had to say to that. 

“Well fuck you,” Stiles was just so done with this. “Or, you know, don’t fuck me or fuck you, as it turns out. Because you’re a fucking asshole for making me trust you.” 

Oh, of course Derek was just as much of a hypocritical asshole as his werewolf supremacist uncle. Of course all of the talk of equality at their wedding was bullshit, and stuff he’d only said to make Stiles go through with the whole bullshit marriage. Of course he didn’t actually give a damn about stupid Stiles and his stupid ideas that maybe they were actually going to move beyond blind hatred and tentative allies to an even more tentative friendship. 

Of course that had all been a lie. He never should have trusted a wolf. 

“Making you trust me?” Derek’s sass had suddenly returned. “Oh, right, I forgot that I put a gun to your head and ordered you to start trusting me. Why would you even do that?” 

Wait, now he was actually blaming Stiles for daring to be human - wow, that worked on multiple levels - and actually giving him a shot? Stiles was actually being blamed for being somewhat appreciative of Derek’s attempts to establish a tentative truce between the two of them. That was what his life was now, tied to a husband who still fucking hated him. 

“Trust you?” Stiles really did not get this asshole, at all. “Well, you see, because you turned out to be surprisingly trustworthy, even though you’re a fucking asshole to me about eighty-five percent of the time. You fucked up with the proposal, and you’re kind of creepily clingy in a way that even Edward Cullen would be impressed by, but you’ve had my back today and you don’t make me any more uncomfortable than I absolutely have to be, so… Trust.” 

It was probably idiotic of him to explain it so openly, but he’d never been able to lie to Derek, so he might as well just say it. All of it, all of the things that made Derek just look progressively more uncomfortable, to the point where he was pulling away from Stiles even though they were still connected by that stupid ribbon. But still he hadn’t used his claws to slice through it - he hadn’t even shifted in an attempt to get away. And that just did not add up. 

“That’s a terrible idea,” Derek looked terrified. 

And what the fuck was up with that? Why the hell would Derek look so scared? 

Stiles had not done a fucking thing to scare him - offering to have sex with him hadn’t even scared Derek this badly, so why would telling him Stiles trusted him have that effect? There was something else going on here, and Stiles was damn sure that he was going to do everything he could to get to the bottom of this. Because he was angry and frustrated and he certainly did not have anything better to do than listen to his husband explain it to him before they could finally get away from each other. But there was only one way to get there. 

“Well, it’s too late to take it back,” Stiles smirked at his idiot husband just to annoy him. 

“The last human - the last person - I slept with,” Derek started, and Stiles looked at him because he was pretty sure that this was not going to a very happy place, “They killed my family.” 

Now that was not even close to what Stiles had been expecting him to say. Sure, Stiles vaguely remembered the tales of a childhood friend of the Prince’s who’d died when the Bite went wrong, but this was something completely different. And not in the fun Monty Python way. 

Just in the gross and horrifying kind of way. 

“You slept with Gerard Argent?” Stiles lost his fucking shit at that. 

“Kate,” Derek interrupted before Stiles could go off about how gross that was. “I slept with Kate Argent. We met at one of those stupid diplomatic parties and she didn’t treat me like a stupid kid, and she didn’t treat me like the expendable middle child who’d never quite fit in. She told me how mature I was for my age, and how I was going to make some girl very lucky someday.” 

Nope, still gross. Marginally less gross because of the smaller age difference, but still extremely gross and manipulative, to use one of the family members to gain access to the family’s palace - to use one of the children to inadvertently betray their parents and help that horrid woman and her even more horrid father to murder thirty-six innocent people. Because Derek had been an actual child, hadn’t he? He certainly had not been a fully-fledged adult yet. 

“But you were a kid,” Stiles had done the math in his head. 

“I was fifteen,” Derek confirmed that awful part of the story. “She was… significantly older. She never told me how much exactly, but I looked it up after. She was about twenty-five then.” 

Right then, Stiles was going to have to figure out a way to fucking murder Katherine Argent and get away with it. There were totally ways for him to pay someone to kill her in prison, right? That was a thing that rich people could arrange, right? Honestly, Stiles was stunned that Duke Peter hadn’t already made that happen - he seemed to be the type. But they were probably watching him too closely for him to get away with anything involving the Argent family. 

“Old enough to keep her fucking hands off you,” Stiles was ready to rage. 

“I was the one old enough to know better,” Derek just had to argue with him about that. “I should have known that a grown woman never would have been interested in a scrawny little idiot like me, not without any ulterior motives. But she told me that she’d never agreed with her father about wolves, and she wanted to get away from him.” 

Wait, what? No, that bullshit was just completely unacceptable. Derek was not allowed to blame himself for something that had so clearly not been his fault. Because he’d been a fucking kid, and here was an adult woman preying on him and sleeping with him which was statutory rape at the very least, and conspiracy to commit murder and so many other charges that she’d already been convicted for. And Stiles got why they didn’t want this to go public, but still. 

That did not mean that Derek had done anything wrong - there was just no way for him to know what she’d been planning, and just how she was using him and what she was using him for. 

“She lied to you,” Stiles was so, so angry. 

“I know that now,” Derek tried to move even further away from Stiles, but the ribbon tying their wrists together would not let him do that. “I figured that out when Laura and I got the call at the hospital, two days after I first slept with her. A day after I showed her a secret passageway into my room at the palace. I may not have wanted to believe her, but when her number started to come up as disconnected the day after the fire, and her father announced that he was giving her some kind of special position in his administration… I did the math.” 

There was a special place in hell for monsters like Kate Argent - and that was not the lead-up to some kind of funny special hell joke. It was his strong conviction that this type of villain was best left suffering, and Stiles was happy to add to her suffering in any way that he could. He knew it would kill her to see her former victim thriving, and that was just another reason why Stiles was going to make sure that this marriage did not fall apart, and that Derek looked like the handsome prince every boy and girl wanted. And that maybe, at some point, the idiot actually started to realize that there were some humans who could be trusted. 

Like his fucking husband, who might have fucked up a ton before, but was doing better now. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Stiles was mostly surprised by that. 

“Because I got them all killed,” Derek almost roared, and Stiles was barely even scared. “Do you know what Peter would do to me if he found out? His wife was in there, his pregnant wife he adored. His sister! And Laura… I don’t want the only person I have left to hate me. I know that’s selfish and unfair, but please. Please don’t take that from me.” 

Derek’s control was kind of stupidly good, because while he did roar, he didn’t so much as shift, didn’t even show claw or fang or those electric blue eyes. And wow did those eyes suddenly make a lot more sense to him - Derek’s guilt was clearly what had turned them blue, because Stiles knew that Derek was not the kind of person to hurt an innocent. He might not have loved his husband, but he did know that his husband was not the monster here. 

“Alright, well, that’s something we’re going to work on,” Stiles announced, pulling at Derek’s hand until they were once again holding hands. “Apparently I have my whole life to do that, which is good, because I think it’s going to be a long term project. And by the end of it, I’m going to make sure that you believe that none of that was your fault. It was hers, and her evil father’s fault, and you cannot be blamed for being used like that.” 

For some reason the holding hands thing was kind of calming for the both of them - even the ribbon seemed to be less tight and uncomfortable when Derek’s soft hand was in his. And yes, it was still weird that Stiles was the only one with calluses, but he was totally starting to get used to that now. To the point where it would feel weird to him to hold a hand that wasn’t smooth and warm and stronger than anyone would suspect by the feel of it. Not that he was going to have a lot of - or any - opportunities to hold anyone else’s hands for the foreseeable future. 

“You actually believe that,” Derek was surprised to say the least. 

“Great, for once the lie detector thing isn’t used to embarrass me,” Stiles sighed in relief. 

He didn’t feel nearly as much shame as most people did, but it was still getting a bit much to constantly have to watch his words for fear of revealing something, or having people find out embarrassing truths about him just by listening to his heartbeat and scenting for fear sweat and all that other weird stuff that wolves could do so easily. 

“So, when are we supposed to cut off this thing?” Stiles felt another tug as he almost unthinkingly tried to take off his shirt using his less than free hand. “And when I say we, know I mean you, because I have yet to spout powerful claws that can cut through a magical ribbon like this. Yes, I know it’s magical, it’s like I can feel that. So, when can we get free?” 

Was he supposed to know that the ribbon was magical? Like, was that some kind of magical werewolf mate power Derek had forgotten to tell him about? Probably not, because that was not actually a thing, no matter the joke Derek had made about the physical mate bond. 

Because that had to have been a joke. Because Stiles did not need bonus telepathy or magical empathy or whatever other crazy thing a magical bond would come up with. 

“I know, I sound super rude,” Stiles continued, because Derek did not seem up to his usual levels of sass. “I sound like I can’t wait to get rid of you. But mostly I can’t wait to get out of this suit. We can try the bondage thing again later, or not, if that’s not your thing, and… Stop laughing at me you asshole, you know this shit happens if you let me talk without interrupting me. See if I ever try to cut you any slack ever again. Asshole.” 

Did he just actually make a bondage reference in front of his husband? Only Stiles Stilinski would - wait. Was he even still Stiles Stilinski? Did werewolves assume that the human took their name? They probably did, because they thought they were superior and Stiles was supposed to be part of the royal pack now, which probably meant that he had to start using the Hale name, right? Even though none of the Betas used that name. 

“Stop laughing at me,” Stiles wasn’t actually as annoyed as he made himself sound. 

Fuck, it was just good to hear Derek laughing, and it was even better that Stiles actually caught a glimpse of his (fucking lethal) smile, and the bunny teeth that were on display for a bit. He did not want his wedding night to be a sad and dramatic affair, even though he knew it wasn’t actually going to be the smutty, sexy kind of night that it probably would have been if his life had actually turned into a Regency romance novel. Sure, the dramatic reveal was right along the lines of that kind of plot, but in that kind of tale, it would have been followed by sex. 

“The ribbon can be torn to pieces once you’re properly claimed,” Derek started to explain. 

“I am properly claimed,” Stiles just had to take offense to that, because they’d done that at the church already. “And I properly claimed you. Why is it always about the human getting nibbled on? I can’t even leave a hickey on you and I’m supposed to walk around with teeth marks and hickeys and probably even jizz all over me, right? That’s the kind of claim you mean.” 

And he’d managed to make Derek blush again, which continued to be really fucking delightful and something he was going to keep doing for the rest of his stupid life. But this time they’d both managed to sit down on their bed - avoiding most of the rose petals - and Stiles could actually see his husband’s face coloring in the dim lighting. The mood lighting had been going on the whole time, but Derek was finally letting Stiles see him again. 

“Would you let me?” Derek suddenly asked. 

“Hickeys?” Stiles questioned in return, before immediately giving the answer as well. “Dude, I would happily let you leave a whole bunch of hickeys wherever you want - because I think it’s kind of stupidly hot and possessive. The biting? I mean, I’m not into any kind of bloodplay, so that would probably be depending on the location of the bite and the amount of damage.” 

Was this what people referred to as kink negotiation? Inquiring minds wanted to know. 

It was a bit weird to go from discussing something so serious to going right back to the sexier side of claiming, but Stiles was no stranger to quick changes in mood, and it wasn’t like his mouth ever waited for his brain to catch the fuck up already. 

Hell, he was already starting to feel a bit… interested. Because yes, maybe he’d imagined his wedding night a bit on the few occasions that he’d managed to get enough time to himself to rub one out in the shower. He’d imagined there being some biting and a lot of marks left all over his body because Stiles had already figured out that Derek was a possessive son of a bitch, and that trait was definitely encouraged by the rest of his species. And honestly, he wasn’t all that opposed to any of those traits - he was pretty turned on by the idea, actually - unless the biting got to the Hannibal point instead of the sexy nibbling point. 

Now, for that third thing… Stiles was going to make Derek address that. 

“And the…” Derek didn’t even dare to ask, but clearly he still wanted to know. 

“I’m supposed to be the blushing virgin here, babe,” Stiles heard the nickname slip out and immediately knew he was not going to be able to walk that back. “But we can definitely discuss you coming on me. If I’m allowed to come all over you - which will probably happen in like five seconds because I’m a teenage virgin. Which means I’m bound to embarrass myself about a million times, so you get to feel like the sex god you undoubtedly are. Not that I’ve thought about that at all - and you just heard that was a lie, didn’t you? Damn it.” 

Right, well, at least he was used to embarrassing himself by now. Derek was much less talkative than he’d been when he’d constantly been fighting with Stiles, which gave Stiles a lot more room to start rambling on and on about whatever thoughts came into his head. And apparently he was currently having a lot of thoughts about sex - which shouldn’t have been weird on his wedding night, but somehow still was. 

“You’ve thought about it,” Derek managed to get closer to him somehow. 

“Horny teenage virgin,” Stiles motioned to himself with his free hand. “Are you really surprised?” 

Derek was not allowed to laugh at him about this, because he was supposed to know about awkward teenage horniness and the endless masturbation and the random thoughts that popped into one’s head during those times. And since Stiles had spent a lot more private time playing with himself when he still lived at the White House, he was kind of a lot more tightly wound than he usually was. Linoleum could set him off at this point, probably. 

And Derek? A lot fucking hotter than any flooring material. 

“ _ I’ve _ thought about it,” Derek said, and Stiles’ brain just died on him. 

There was some kind of ‘404 - Stiles not found’ error message going on in his brain, even as his dick was starting to harden in his pants because just the thought of Derek imagining what sex with Stiles was going to be like was doing it for him. Like, he never even imagined that Derek was actually interested in this - he’d seemed so disinterested in more kissing, clearly thinking that he didn’t need any practice. Because he didn’t want to kiss Stiles more times than he absolutely had to - and Stiles had been pushing it with the practice session. 

“That’s hot,” Stiles finally found himself saying. 

“I bet it’s hotter if we do it for real,” Derek suggested, and Stiles’ brain went back offline. 

Was this the assassination attempt that the Secret Service people had been waiting for this whole time? Was Derek actually going to try and kill him with sex? Because Stiles was like, so fucking down for that. He was going to go out with a stupid smile on his face, covered in werewolf spunk and with hickeys all over him. Sounded like a great way to go if you asked him. 

Apparently Derek wanted to mess with him even more, because he managed to dig his face into the curve of Stiles’ neck and just sniffed him like a ton. Stiles did not want to think of how gross he smelled after a whole day of wedding related activities and very little room to freshen up at any time, but apparently that scent was totally doing it for Derek for some reason. 

Wait, didn’t the books say that werewolves could actually scent arousal? 

That was an interesting bit of information that he was absolutely going to take advantage of in the future - whenever he wanted to tease Derek. Shit, he had power again. 

“Yeah,” Stiles managed to whisper. “We can do that. I want to do that. If you want.” 

Derek’s face was still hidden, and the sniffing had made way for some licking, somehow exactly on the place where Derek had held his teeth earlier, as if the scent of that moment had been imprinted on his skin somehow. Because no one would have dared to touch his throat now that he was married to a werewolf - that was private, a place only his husband could reach for. 

Possessive bastard, trying to claim Stiles several times over. 

“I want,” Derek muttered against the skin of Stiles’ neck. 

“Alright then,” Stiles was ready to get on with it. “We need to get naked.” 

It was not the most romantic way in which he could have said it, but since neither of them had any kind of romantic feelings for the other person, there was no use in lying to each other that this was anything more than animal attraction and curiosity. 

Also, the stupid formal outfit was going to kill him if he kept it on any longer than this. 

“Do you trust me?” Derek asked, and Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“Aladdin, did I not just explain this to you?” Stiles tried to sound slightly peeved and failed at it rather miserably. “I pour my heart out to you and you don’t even listen. Yes, I trust you.” 

He really hoped that Derek had at least seen that movie, because it would have just been really fucking weird to explain Disney to a werewolf on his wedding night, okay? Also, Derek hadn’t blinked an eye when Stiles had mentioned Disney earlier, in the midst of his random Jonas Brothers rant, and really? This was what his brain was choosing to focus on?

Sex. Sex. Sexy sex. Right, that was better. 

“Stay very still,” Derek ordered, and Stiles knew his heartbeat was raised. 

Oh fuck, Derek was about to do something extremely foolish yet stupidly sexy, wasn’t he? 

“Fuck,” Stiles swore as sharp claws swiped at his suit. 

There was not even a hint of pain, not even a graze against his skin as Derek ever so carefully slashed his suit to fucking pieces. The control so evident in his movements was stupidly attractive, and Stiles both wanted to watch him do it forever and wanted to make him completely lose control (preferably because of something that Stiles had done).

“You’re killing me,” Derek announced, before ripping at his own clothes. 

“Good,” Stiles told him, watching closely as more and more skin was revealed. “Because that way things will finally be even a little bit fair. You’re giving me photoshopped abs here, and I’m just… Slightly above average on my best day. Fuck, you’re really attractive and I want to put my mouth all over you and try my very best to leave a mark that lasts longer than five seconds.” 

Was being possessive actually contagious? Because Stiles was feeling a distinct need to leave Derek with many a mark all over his ridiculous body - all over the parts he could see through the tatters of his clothes, and all over the parts that he couldn’t see yet, but soon would if Derek just got them both completely naked already. 

Once again patience was never going to be a thing that was very easy for Stiles. 

“I can shut up,” Stiles offered. 

“Can you?” Derek sounded - and looked - dubious at that. “Probably not. But don’t.” 

The undercurrent there was that Derek actually liked it when Stiles let his mouth do the talking without any kind of input from his brain. That Derek was into dirty talk, into letting Stiles tell him exactly what he wanted them to do later, what Stiles wanted to do to Derek - and maybe Stiles would even be allowed to tell Derek all about what he wanted Derek to do to him. While he was definitely still a virgin, he had an active imagination and a search history on his laptop that involved a whole lot of porn. He liked to do the research, after all. 

It seemed as if Derek wasn’t too much of a talker in bed - a shame, because Stiles kind of liked the idea of him getting a little bit sexy with his voice. But maybe they could get to that eventually. 

“You are unreal,” Stiles continued as requested. “Just tear it all off. I am going to stare at you regardless, but if you get naked I might actually get to touch you. And lick you. I mean what I said about putting my mouth all over you. I think my mouth is actually watering.” 

Finally Derek got rid of the remaining tatters of their clothes - Stiles did not want to think of what the staff would think once they got a look at what had happened to their very expensive garments - and Stiles saw all of him. And immediately started drooling, because damn. 

“Your dick is annoyingly perfect,” Stiles announced. “It’s not fair. They’re supposed to look a bit weird, you know. But yours? Not weird. I want to touch it, and I want to get my mouth on it and I want it inside me like yesterday. If you like that sort of thing. I’m pretty sure that tonight is a very traditional werewolf fucks human kind of night, but I am not ever going to turn you down if you decide that you want to ride me or have me fuck you. Your ass is… Fuck, Derek.” 

That was the moment where Derek decided that there had been enough talking, and it was time for action. Because he man-handled Stiles into his lap, basically sitting on top of the hot, throbbing erection that Stiles was halfway in love with already (that was possible right, not liking the owner of a dick, but loving that dick? If not, fanfiction had lied to him). 

Stiles’ hips moved without any input from his brain, rubbing up against miles and miles of Derek’s naked skin, their hips grinding together again and again instinctively. 

“If you can still talk non-stop, I’m doing it wrong,” Derek was almost teasing him. 

“You like it when I talk,” Stiles was pretty sure of that now. “But if you want to take that as a challenge, you’re welcome to. Make me put my mouth to better use, I’m in.” 

While he probably shouldn’t start making any promises that he was not going to be able to keep, Stiles just really wanted to blow his husband. And kiss him a little more, and just explore the miles and miles and miles of tanned skin that were apparently his to explore, at least for the night. Which meant that he was going to stay up all night and not sleep and just do nothing but have sex until he physically couldn’t get it up anymore. 

He had some werewolf stamina to keep up with, even if it killed him. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek said, as if he hadn’t said that a million times before. 

Stiles made sure that Derek saw him rolling his eyes before he was being pulled in for a kiss, one more in line with their practice session than the relatively chaste one they had shared in the church that morning. It was filthy almost immediately, and Stiles groaned into Derek’s mouth when Derek used the distraction of the kiss to grab at Stiles’ ass, squeezing slightly as their hips continued to grind. It was just so much, feeling so many things, that Stiles was pretty sure that he was not going to be able to keep this up for very long. 

“It’s okay if you come, you know,” Derek pulled back from the kiss just to be infuriatingly good at dirty talk. “Just to take the edge off. You know it won’t be the last one. You can probably go several times, can’t you? Since you’re a teenage virgin. Have you ever tried it? Do you know how many times you can come in one night? Until you physically can’t do it anymore, because it’s just too much pleasure and your body cannot keep up any longer. Would you let me try that, Stiles? Would you let me give that to you?” 

Alright, maybe this  _ is _ Derek trying to murder him with sex - still not a hard no for him by the way. 

“You’re evil,” Stiles told him, trying to convey how fucking hot that was. 

Derek seemingly accepted that for the compliment it was meant to be, already moving on to Stiles’ neck, where he was now trying to leave the most epic hickey in all of existence. And also trying to establish a direct line between Stiles’ neck and his dick, because the suction and the nibbling were really fucking doing it for him for some reason. 

“Come on, husband,” Stiles goaded Derek when things weren’t progressing fast enough. “I want them all to know that I’m yours. That you’re all over me. Inside of me. Get with it.” 

For some reason, Derek refused to move any faster, but he somehow managed to thoroughly distract Stiles for long enough anyway. For long enough that he knew that he wasn’t going to want to leave this bed in the morning - or possibly ever. 

* * *

The life of a Prince of Triskele was… not quite what he’d been expecting. 

It was two days after the wedding, and Stiles had finally been allowed to leave the apartments by his very, very possessive husband. The first few attempts to leave had been thwarted by Derek just having to make sure that the hickeys were still standing out properly, or by him having to ensure that Stiles still smelled enough like him. This fourth attempt - the first successful one - had only worked because Stiles had managed to goad him into wanting to show off his claim in front of his pack right the fuck now. 

After all, it would be a shame to let all of those marvellous hickeys fade before the pack could stare at them to their heart’s content, wouldn’t it? 

Yes, Derek was that easy to manipulate when he got all wolfy and possessive. 

“Were you by any chance possessed by a vampire on your wedding night?” Isaac directed the words at Derek, while looking at Stiles’ neck with distaste over their very, very late brunch. 

“Sorry not sorry,” Stiles half-hummed, half-sang as he dug into a giant stack of pancakes. “He just couldn’t resist me any longer. I’m just werewolf nip, basically.” 

Ridiculous? Absolutely, but he was still going to milk this conversation for all it was worth, because how many chances was he going to get to make the ruler of Triskele scrunch up her face with delight as she watched her brother be embarrassed about his own possessive behavior towards his new husband? If the answer was very little - Stiles would have been right, because even in front of her own pack Queen Laura didn’t get to let loose much. 

Besides, Stiles was really enjoying that embarrassed blush Derek had going on. He was enjoying it so much that he was already thinking of what else he could do to make it come out again and again and again. Preferably in their bedroom, later. 

“No you’re not,” Isaac made the disgusted face again. 

“I’m sorry, but are you actually surprised?” Erica was enjoying this far too much, of course. “We have been telling Stiles just how possessive this idiot is for weeks. And with Stiles undoubtedly being stubbornly virtuous until now, Derek went all-out on the overcompensation.” 

Oh, Stiles was happy to tell them all about how Derek really didn’t need to be compensating for everything. Even now he was stretching like a very content cat, letting very well-used muscles protest vehemently at the work he’d put them through over the past few days. And even now he was exaggerating those movements to let his sweater slip a little bit more, displaying even more marks on his collarbones and chests. Now, he didn’t actually want to flash anyone, but Derek’s eyes were on him the second he moved and Stiles was kind of living for that. 

He felt stupidly desirable, and he was already tempted to drag him back to their apartments. 

“It’s a good look on you,” Laura was not even trying to hide her grin. “On both of you.” 

That was a lovely compliment, even though Stiles probably was not in the right place to properly appreciate, seeing as he was trying to make it very obvious to Derek that he was willing to skip brunch and any other food-related plans if they were just to go back to their comfortable bed and spent some more time adding to Stiles’ collection of marks. Some of them had started to fade a little already, and that was just unacceptable. 

From virgin to slut - the transformation really was not all that surprising. Even in his Regency romance novel of a life. 

“The smell, though,” Isaac was happy to complain. 

Stiles completely disregarded the comment, happy to lick his lips to get the last traces of delicious maple syrup off them - and even happier at the growl that resulted in, because Derek suddenly could not keep his hungry eyes off Stiles’ mouth. Just as he’d intended. 

“I’m just surprised the boy is still human,” Duke Peter had to completely ruin the vibe. 

“I’m not,” Derek growled, already half ready to vault the table to attack his uncle at the slightest perceived slight. “He’s human. He will remain human.” 

Okay then, clearly Derek was a bit more volatile than he’d been expecting, but Stiles was absolutely willing to roll with it while getting a chance to roast the annoying Uncle Peter at the same time. Because honestly, fuck that werewolf supremacy bullshit. Stiles was not having any of that, and he knew Derek didn’t either, because judging by the way Derek was basically obsessed with Stiles’ pale skin and how easily it marked? Derek didn’t exactly want Stiles to be turned into a wolf if it meant losing all that. And Stiles was in full agreement. 

“There there, babe,” Stiles teased, petting Derek’s scruff a little because he could. “Uncle Peter - I can call you uncle now, right? Since I’m family now and all that. Uncle Peter, he just really likes making it very, very obvious that we enjoy each other’s company. He has a marking kink a mile wide and I’m more than happy to indulge it. Also, I’m happy as a human.” 

He was currently the happiest he’d been in ages, which was just astonishing. His situation hadn’t really changed, except the arranged marriage was a little less platonic than he’d been expecting it to be. It was very much a fuck buddy marriage - he hesitated to call them friends with benefits when they really weren’t friends - but Stiles was absolutely ready to roll with that for the rest of his life. Was that the horny newlywed in him talking? Probably. 

“This is ridiculous,” Uncle Peter clearly was not done with the conversation. 

“That’s enough,” Laura did not even raise her voice, but Peter was still cowed. “There are plenty of reasons for Stiles to remain human. Our alliance with the humans is much stronger if we show that we can keep the son of their President human and happy and whole. And besides, the Bite is a Gift. One we will not bestow unwanted, even if it’s tradition.” 

Suddenly it was very obvious that Laura was both Queen and Alpha, and Stiles was a little bit in awe of her. Because she was the smallest one at the table, and yet she carried herself as if she was the most imposing figure in the room. And in a way she was. 

“Some biting is clearly not unwanted,” Erica muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m happy to let Derek bite me,” Stiles found that easy to say, especially since he knew it wouldn’t make the werewolf lie detectors go off. “Laura, however, I don’t find nearly as devastatingly attractive as her brother. So I’m happy to let just Derek get his teeth in me.” 

Nailed it! He’d managed to appease his possessive husband and mate, made Erica laugh, and charmingly teased his new sister in law while also completely disregarding anything that Duke Peter had ever said. Because Stiles Stilinski-Hale (maybe?) was awesome like that, and the asshole Duke was easily outmaneuvered when Stiles felt this buoyant. 

“At least keep it in your pants until after brunch,” Isaac was not amused. “I can’t enjoy my eggs if they come with extra Eau de Aroused Idiots on the side.” 

Ugh, it did not used to be this hard (hah!) to keep his focus on anything but Derek, but to be fair, he’d only lost his virginity a few days ago and he was more than a little bit obsessed with trying all the things before Derek realized that Stiles was terrible at sex (or he remembered that he didn’t actually like Stiles) and this stopped happening. Because Stiles was not lucky enough for this to last - that and it would probably eventually get less interesting to have sex with someone Stiles was pretty sure he barely even liked as a person. 

“Not sure if we can make it that long,” it was funny, and had the added benefit of being true. 

“We can’t,” Derek spoke up again, his voice hoarse and deep, and… Yep. 

They absolutely were not going to make it that long. Heck, if Derek kept looking at him like that, they probably weren’t even going to make it all the way to their rooms before they gave the staff one hell of a show. And seeing as they were really not at the exhibitionism stage in this thing - if they ever would be, because wolves probably did not like others seeing them like that. Or, well, Derek probably would not want anyone else to see Stiles like that, and Stiles was pretty sure this fantasy was best kept to the theoretical and just the idea of someone catching them. 

Fucking hell, he was never going to get his brain working again if everything came back to sex all the damn time. Hopefully at some point he’d actually be sated. 

Not any time in the near future though. 

“Can we at least take some food to go?” Stiles pouted at his mate. “I’m pretty sure I can finish most of this bacon before we get back to bed.” 

He was going to get grease stains all over his prince-y clothes (mostly the stupidly fancy sweater that he’d stolen from Derek because it was too big and would therefore slip off his shoulders all sexy-like), but he was happy to sacrifice the clothes for the greater good, which in this case was bacon. And Derek. Bacon and Derek. Yep, solid combo. 

“Bacon in bed,” Boyd offered an excellent suggestion. 

Isaac just made loud vomiting noises until Erica slapped at him. It was relatively playful, but Stiles was starting to become rather familiar with werewolf strength and knew that it was probably a harder hit than it appeared to be. All done with love, of course. Because for some reason these idiots showed their love a bit more violently than expected - Stiles preferred to join in on the more verbal violence, because he was a lot better at that. 

“Bacon in bed,” Stiles nodded, because he was only human. 

“No,” Derek told him. 

Sure, there were boring considerations like potential grease stains and the like, but Derek was a big old carnivore so it wasn’t like he was going to mind licking bacon grease off Stiles’ fingers, right? It was totally a delicious combination - also, it was giving Stiles a whole lot of ideas about maybe attempting some other oral delights, and he was pretty sure the scent of arousal was now powerful enough to make it impossible for Derek to smell anything else. 

Judging by the way Derek almost swayed towards him, it was pretty damn close. 

“But Derek,” Stiles pouted, knowing that his husband was basically powerless against a solid pout. “I can have you and I can have bacon. It’s the best of both worlds.” 

Wow, that was not a reference he’d made intentionally, but he was sticking with it nonetheless, particularly because Derek probably had no idea that he was talking about. At some point Stiles was going to fix the serious gaps in his husband’s pop culture knowledge (and do some investigating about what passed for pop culture in Triskele), but right now he had other things on his mind. Sexy things. Sex. Sex. Sexy sex - if he just thought it at Derek long and hard enough (hah!) they would totally get to bail on brunch to fuck some more. 

No matter how some people (gross uncle Peter) might disapprove of it. 

“If you start singing Hannah Montana right now,” Isaac was so over it still, and he was letting everyone know about it, “I can not be held responsible for my actions. I’m sure that qualifies as torture in some countries. Including this one, hopefully. Laura, does it?” 

It wasn’t quite the violation of the Geneva conventions that some other songs were, but Stiles could somewhat respect Isaac for knowing the song and show in question, and for really not wanting to hear Stiles sing it. Because he did not have a good singing voice, not at all actually, and Derek might actually want to stop having sex with him the second he’d heard Stiles attempting to sing. And Stiles really did not want to do that. 

Yes, he was a horny teenager with a stupidly hot husband, so sue him. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Laura ignored Isaac’s complaints. “But please, Derek, take your mate back to your rooms. There are some things I can stand not to hear about, because you’re my annoying little brother. I’m happy you’re… happy, though.” 

Getting laid. That was what she’d meant to say, Stiles just knew it. But since Laura was a queen, she’d managed to say it a whole lot more delicately than that. Honestly, it might be a good idea for Stiles to take some etiquette lessons from her if they wanted to start parading him around at werewolf gatherings. Stiles could go for learning some tactical insults. 

“Derek, happy?” Asshole Uncle Peter actually laughed at the idea of it. 

“He’s certainly making me very happy,” Stiles responded, being as lascivious as possible about that comment. “Best I ever had, really. He does that thing with his tongue that…” 

Was he lying? Absolutely not, because Derek’s tongue was fucking criminal, just like a lot of other parts of his body. Stiles had really lucked out in the sex aspect of the arranged hubby lottery, that was for damn sure. Some of the other parts maybe not so much, but  _ God _ the sex was good. And that probably didn’t even have anything to do with the fact that he’d been a virgin up until recently, and he didn’t exactly have anything to compare it to. 

But they spent the past few days getting better at it every time, so….

“Stiles,” Derek tried to sound annoyed, but Stiles saw the telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I appreciate the compliments. I’d appreciate them even more in private.” 

Oh really? Stiles would be happy to give him some of those compliments in private, when they got the hell back to the room already. After he finished the bacon that he was basically shoveling into his face in between making most of the pack uncomfortable with his lewd allusions to Derek’s sexual prowess. A boy could multitask. 

Finally he finished the final piece of bacon, and got up from his seat. Derek responded immediately, almost throwing his chair to the floor in his haste to follow Stiles - and wasn’t that just quite the compliment about his own sexual prowess? 

“He’s the only one you ever had,” Isaac just really wanted to get the last word in. 

Erica was laughing while giving him two thumbs up, Boyd seemed pretty comfortable being the only calm one at the table, Laura was trying to look dignified while rolling her eyes at her pack’s antics, and The Creepy Duke? That guy was far too busy trying not to show just how annoyed he’d gotten at Stiles’ almost effortless mastering of the pack’s responses. 

Oh yeah, Stiles was totally winning that fight. Suck it, Creeper Duke. 

“Race you,” Stiles called out seconds after peeling off in the direction of their bedroom. 

He knew that Derek would be helpless to follow, and he knew that his husband’s wolfy instincts liked it when he got to give chase. Even though Stiles really was not the harmless prey kind of guy - it still worked for them. And honestly, Stiles was happy to do it, because it kinda really turned him on when Derek got a little more feral during sex. 

And no, he really did not want to think too hard about how fucked up that probably was, because he was too busy enjoying every fucking minute of it. Pun intended. 

“Do you always have to cheat?” Derek asked, keeping up too damn easily. 

Shit, was Stiles going to have to start working out outside of the bedroom to keep up with his idiot husband? Sure, working out made people look super fucking attractive apparently (exhibit A: his stupid husband), but God, at what cost? Stiles was probably better off appreciating the results on his husband’s body rather than trying any of it himself. Priorities. 

“How else would I win?” Stiles let himself be caught right outside their door. 

If there was staff around somewhere, they’d probably figured out to steer clear of the newlyweds by now. Also, they’d probably taken advantage of the very limited time that they’d left their marital bed to clean some things up. Stiles would have been embarrassed of what they’d probably found, except he kind of wanted all of Triskele to know that their Prince couldn’t get enough of his brand new husband. Because of reasons. 

Because Stiles just really liked being wanted, okay?

“You like getting caught,” Derek apparently needed to state the obvious again. 

“Only when it’s you, babe,” Stiles had to clarify. “Just you.” 

Wow, that seemed to really set Derek off. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was the accidental pet name or the casual mention of monogamy that did it, but he was happy it worked. Because it made Derek rumble happily (Stiles wouldn’t even dare call it a purr, not out loud anyway) and scent Stiles quite fiercely. The skin of Stiles’ neck was already pretty heavily marked, but apparently it didn’t smell nearly enough of Derek - or Derek just liked the way Stiles smelled, but that seemed like the less likely option here. Because while he did shower this morning - with Derek, of course - there was no way that Stiles’ natural scent was all that appealing. 

Still, Stiles was happy to lean against the door and let Derek do his thing, at least until the rubbing of Derek’s scruff turned into the rubbing of Derek’s groin against Stiles’ - that was a thing that was better kept to the bedroom. Or at least their apartments. 

So Stiles opened the door and they almost tripped into their apartments, Derek barely even moving away from Stiles the whole time. And Stiles would have wholeheartedly encouraged him if it had not been for one nagging question that he had not been able to get out of his head ever since the Creeper Duke had opened his stupid mouth. 

“Is it really not a problem that I’m still human?” Stiles felt like an insecure idiot for even asking. 

“Are you really listening to  _ Peter _ ?” Derek’s eyebrows were doing that sexy sassy thing. 

It just made Stiles want to  _ wreck _ him, as much as Derek would let him, anyway. So far Derek had a serious need to be in control at all times, and yeah Stiles totally got that after the shit that had happened to him with his previous human partners, but… It still made him feel like Derek didn’t actually trust him, not like Stiles trusted Derek. And for some stupid reason, that actually mattered to him. Not just because it left him as the vulnerable one, but because… 

Well, he didn’t actually know why. Or, he just didn’t understand why. 

“Okay, you might have a point there,” Stiles was still reluctant to admit that. 

“I know,” Derek’s casual cockiness was totally doing it for Stiles. “It may not be the usual thing, but that does not mean that it’s a problem. I’d never force you into getting the Bite if you didn’t want it. Do you have any idea how much more annoying you’d be as a wolf?” 

This was the asshole Stiles was going to be tied to for the rest of his life. This was his husband, and sometimes Stiles just really appreciated that fucking asshole. Not that he was ever actually going to tell the man in question about that, because it sounded too sappy and they were honestly everything but. However, it did really help him accept what Derek was saying. 

Honestly, if Derek was actually completely nice to him, Stiles would suspect shenanigans. 

“How dare you,” Stiles knew he sounded barely peeved, but still. “I would be a fucking delight as a werewolf. I’d be a better wolf than you are. I’d be the coolest wolf in the whole wide world.” 

Derek’s entire face showed that he had some serious doubts about that, so naturally Stiles had to try and rock his world again. Because that always managed to work as a distraction. 


	7. The Family Portrait of Hale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which life goes on, and family bonding happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Bet you thought you'd have to wait a bit.   
> When I started making my posting schedule for the month, I wanted to switch off between this and the one-shots. But then I had too many chapters of this and not enough one-shots. So this happened - next update will take 4 days though. Don't worry, there's no cliffhanger. I could have. But I didn't.

The fun part about establishing a routine was… Well, the sex. The truly stupendous amount of sex that Stiles was still somehow having, because even after two weeks, Derek had yet to get bored with him. And it wasn’t like Stiles was getting bored with any of this, so things were just going to continue, on and on and on - actually acting like the newlyweds they technically were. 

Though Stiles was not getting bored with the sex, he was getting bored with still being cooped up inside their apartments all the time. It kind of stung that Derek clearly did not trust him still, at least not enough to let him spend time outside of their apartments - sure they saw the pack for meals from time to time, but Stiles hadn’t been outside in actual fucking ages. The palace was grand and beautiful, but just a balcony really did not count to him. 

Sometimes a boy just wanted the actual ground underneath his feet. And perhaps some fabulous outdoor sex with his annoying husband, if said husband was so inclined. 

“Are we ever going to go outside?” Stiles asked, lounging naked in bed. 

Why bother putting clothes on when he was just going to be taking them off again in about thirty minutes? Derek was beyond in the mood, and Stiles was happy to indulge him - right now they still had the time, and they didn’t have to worry about Stiles’ classes at the mysterious werewolf university yet. That was still a few weeks away, and Stiles was trying hard to be prepared, but also not to think about it too much because this part of the vacation had been nice. 

Sure, it was not the traditional kind of honeymoon, but they weren’t a traditional married couple either. Maybe eventually he might get Derek to take him places physically, instead of just showing him the stars. Ugh, terrible metaphor, but it made sense to him. Somewhat. 

“Is that your exhibitionism kink talking?” Derek had the audacity to look gorgeous still. 

Stiles felt like he’d been put through the wringer - this last bout had certainly been a bit more athletic than he’d been anticipating - but he was still happy about it. Still, he didn’t relish trying any other kind of workout for the foreseeable future, because werewolf stamina was nothing to joke about. Stiles could say that with confidence now - albeit with a blush. 

“It’s not that I don’t like that we’re almost getting along now,” Stiles started, trying to figure out the right way to phrase it. “Mostly because we’re too busy fucking to argue, which is probably the best kind of diversion, but… I’d still eventually like to leave the building. And yeah, outdoor sex sounds good, but maybe hold off on any kind of public mating rituals or orgies? Because that sounds like it would be a bit much. Especially with how possessive you are.” 

Not that Stiles would have wanted to do that kind of thing if Derek hadn’t been all possessive and marking Stiles as his all the damn time. He was starting to think that he was a one wolf kind of guy - or just one person, with his only option being his wolfy husband. 

Trying not to resent Derek for his lack of options was still a problem at times. 

“Are you complaining?” Derek arched his stupid eyebrows. 

“Not about that,” Stiles had to pout a little. “Seriously, outside? I thought you wolves were all about frolicking in nature and communing with mother moon and the like.” 

Was he purposefully saying that to piss off his mate? Probably. Because he knew that pissing Derek off was fun, and was most likely to get him laid again or get them fighting. And Stiles needed to keep fighting with Derek - if they ever stopped, he’d worry that either of them had been replaced by some kind of pod person. Sure, they’d been all over each other (and yeah, Stiles was a little bummed that Derek still somehow didn’t trust him enough to let Stiles top for once), but that didn’t mean that they actually liked each other now. Or, well, they were almost friends maybe, but that was all they’d ever be. 

And that was fine. Or it would be, once Derek started trusting him. Not just about sex, but also about completely normal things like going outside. 

“And I thought humans were smart enough to understand the concept of stereotypes,” Derek was preparing himself for battle again. “Have you still not read the books?” 

Oh, right, because he had homework on his so-called honeymoon. Sometimes Derek was so fucking exhausting, because it wasn’t as if Derek had been doing any reading on what human culture was like - or had he? Stiles certainly hadn’t seen any of that, and since they were basically attached at the dick these days, he was pretty confident in saying that he would know if Derek had something else going on outside sex and stupid royal obligations in the palace. 

“I haven’t exactly had a lot of reading time,” Stiles kind of liked the banter now. 

“Oh, are you crying uncle?” Derek was being obtuse just because he could. 

Would Stiles rather read than have sex? Probably not, but this pace wasn’t really sustainable in the long term, was it? And eventually they were going to have to find other things to do, things one could do with one’s clothes on even. Because eventually they were going to have to start making public appearances outside of the palace - and yes, Stiles was really looking forward to that - because the adoring werewolf masses (were they adoring? Probably not) were not going to buy their Prince’s husband being locked up in their castle for the rest of his life. 

That did not a happy marriage make - or so Stiles assumed from his limited experience. 

“Your uncle doesn’t deserve my tears,” Stiles quipped, because the opportunity was there and therefore he had to take it. “I’m not saying less sex - or well, maybe a bit less because at some point I’ll have classes and homework and the like, and you’ll go back to doing whatever it is you do when you’re not being a total asshole to your loving mate.” 

Right, that last bit might have been a bit too much for anyone to consider it convincing. But he had to try at least, and he had to remind Derek that they actually had obligations they’d been allowed to neglect for a little while. And honestly, since when was he the responsible one? 

“Loving mate,” Derek scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, I didn’t buy it either,” Stiles shrugged his shoulders. “But can we at least go outside? I haven’t seen anything of your country, and isn’t that what I’m supposed to do as prince?” 

A solid argument, he thought, one that Derek was going to have to agree with. Because their stupid image was the only reason they’d gotten married in the first place, and just because they didn’t outwardly hate each other anymore, didn’t mean that the problem was now solved. Tensions between wolves and humans were probably still about as high as they’d been before the wedding, even though the event had probably garnered a lot of goodwill for both countries, especially with the more open-minded citizens of Triskele and the United States. 

“We are not leaving the grounds,” Derek growled. 

“I’m sure that the grounds have gardens and the likes,” Stiles spotted the loophole. 

They did, he was sure of it - he’d seen them on the way to the church. Because that was the last time (or the only time) he’d been allowed outside of the building since he’d gotten here. 

“Only if we go together,” Derek sighed heavily. “And only for an hour or so.” 

A whole hour? Wow, Stiles had not been expecting more than maybe fifteen or thirty minutes - which meant that Derek totally got that Stiles had a point here, and that he could totally bargain for more than an hour. Because this was just the first offer - and saying yes to this without ever even trying for more was letting Derek win. And Stiles wouldn’t just let that happen. 

“I’ll blow you if you make it two,” Stiles batted his eyelashes. 

Derek’s eyes widening was the only immediate response to that, which was disappointing. 

Was it because he was trading sexual favors already? Well, if it was going to get him some quality time outside in the summer sun, he was absolutely going to trade whatever he was willing to offer. And since Stiles had found out that he got off on sucking his husband’s gorgeous dick, well, he was extremely willing to offer that. Even though his jaw was already a bit sore from this morning, and Derek hadn’t done that magic pain drain thing yet. 

“Maybe ninety minutes if you make it good,” Derek just had to be a dick. 

“Excuse me?” Stiles was kind of offended. “I always make it good. You go all come drunk for a whole minute after. You like my mouth. Even when it’s talking.” 

Stiles pointedly licked his lips and watched Derek’s eyes go dark. And fuck, that was a bad idea because if he distracted Derek with sex they were never going to get outside - so he had to quickly hop off the bed and find some clean clothes. Some casual clean clothes, because it wasn’t like they needed to be dressed to the nines to go out into the gardens. 

There was a bit of a pout on Derek’s face as he watched too carefully while Stiles got dressed (probably because he was covering up most of the marks that Derek had left on him). But Stiles was going to persevere and ignore that tempting, sexy, distracting pout. 

“Are you going to be naked?” Stiles tried to sound innocent. “I agree that’s a good look for you, and I know werewolves are less uptight about nudity, but it still seems a bit much.” 

It probably didn’t work, because Derek was usually far too suspicious of his intentions to let him get away with it, but he was obviously still going to try. So he managed to dredge up not only clean underwear but also a baggy pair of jeans and a t-shirt with the Batman logo on it, and he turned his back to his mate while he got dressed - even though he knew that turning his back to Derek usually had about seventy-thirty odds of ending in some kind of sex. 

Maybe even eighty-twenty. 

“You like seeing me naked,” Derek was not wrong. 

“If I’m not going out naked, neither are you,” Stiles responded without even looking. 

When he was as dressed and reasonably comfy as he was going to get, he turned around to face his no longer naked husband. Was he bummed about it? Absolutely. Was he also glad that Derek seemed to be taking their trip outside seriously? Hell yes. 

“We might have to hold hands for a bit,” Derek warned. 

Stiles sighed. “If we must.” 

He made it sound a lot more terrible than it actually was, but the second Derek started figuring out that Stiles kind of liked the comfort of holding hands, it would be ruined. So he sighed and pouted and moaned about it a little, watched Derek roll his eyes before striding towards their door. Because of course that overprotective asshole had to go out first. 

And that was when the world completely went to shit. The sound of gunfire echoed from the hallway, and Derek quickly ducked back into their room and closed the door. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Stiles whispered emphatically. 

“Into the second room,” Derek muttered just as quietly. 

Which meant their assailants were werewolves, right? Because if they’d been human, there would have been no need to be so ridiculously quiet. And actually, there was no need at all because these apartments had been soundproofed very well (which had definitely been a good thing over the past few weeks of epic sex). They couldn’t be overheard. 

“What’s the plan?” Stiles started brainstorming out loud. “I thought wolves wouldn’t be so quick to use guns, but apparently I’ve been underestimating them. My apologies.” 

Derek grabbed him by the hand and forcibly led him into the southwest corner of their private study, where he used his claws to remove a single panel from the wall, revealing a passageway that had Stiles gasping. It was dark, but carefully maintained (no cobwebs or even a musty scent), and it was large enough for a single person to walk through.

“I’m impressed,” Stiles nodded. “Where does this one end up?” 

Of course the rightfully paranoid remaining members of the royal family had secret exits all over the palace. Of course they were going to make sure that they had another way of getting out of the building if another madman or madwoman tried to kill them all in their beds. There were probably tons of tunnels all over the palace, leading to god knows where. 

“Wherever you need to go,” Derek sounded rushed, practically pushing Stiles inside. 

“You plural, right?” Stiles wanted to make something very clear here. “Both of us.” 

Because not only was Stiles not going to leave his idiot behind to be slaughtered, he also had no fucking clue of where he’d have to go to get to safety. He didn’t exactly have some kind of magical Marauders Map to tell him where everyone was and where he needed to be. He wasn’t even sure who he should run to, because he didn’t want to put the others at risk. 

“Stiles, run,” Derek roared. 

“Fuck you,” Stiles returned, because like hell he was. 

It seemed as if the unknown assailants were working on the door to the apartments, which made it pretty damn obvious that this was a targeted attack. That they wanted to take Derek and Stiles for some reason, and that they’d actually been coming straight for them. 

Good thing they’d actually managed to get dressed for once. 

“Please, Stiles,” Derek actually managed to surprise him. “Just go.” 

Yeah, like he was going to be swayed by a simple please from an extremely stubborn idiot - sure, it had made his heart skip a beat because it wasn’t like Derek said that kind of thing to him often or ever, but that didn’t mean that Stiles couldn’t be just as stubborn as his mate. Hell, Stiles was used to out-stubborning most people, and he wasn’t going to lose now. 

“Who’s going to protect you, idiot?” Stiles had to bring out that old pet name again. 

Forget ‘babe’ and ‘dear heart’ and all of the ridiculous stuff they used in public, names like ‘idiot’ and ‘moron’ and ‘asshole’ were definitely the way to go here. Because the Asshole Prince was out in full force again and Stiles was not going to cater to anyone by using kind words when he could be using the truth. And Derek needed to hear the truth, which was that he was honestly the dumb partner in this fucked up marriage if he thought that he was just going to push Stiles into the secret passageway and stay behind to get himself killed. 

That was not going to happen. Stiles would not let it. 

“I’ll heal,” Derek thought he was stating the obvious. 

“Do you really think they don’t carry wolfsbane?” Stiles was less than impressed. “Because everyone knows that we’re never apart. They knew that they’d have to go through you to get to me, and they’re willing to risk it. So I’m not leaving.” 

Honestly, if they’d been looking for the both of them the whole time (and wasn’t it convenient for them that they were always in the same place), there was no way that they had not prepared for Derek’s presence right next to Stiles. Unless they thought they were going to be able to attack while they were sleeping - but that seemed like an odd assumption for the time of day and also for how light of a sleeper Derek was. Anything could wake him up, even Stiles breathing wrong, apparently. He’d earned himself a shove for that one, and then they were both awake. 

They managed to tire themselves out, though. 

“Damn it, Stiles,” Derek growled. 

“Unless we’re leaving together,” Stiles was ready to make a bargain. “That is the only way you’ll get me to go anywhere, you stupid drama queen. I’m not going to become a grieving widow mere weeks after my wedding. I refuse - and Laura would bring you back from the dead just to kill you all over again. I don’t care about you, but she does.” 

He’d been on such a roll there, until the end. When he outright lied about not caring - because well, he kind of does by now, even though he kind of hates it. He didn’t mean to actually give a damn about his idiot husband and his stupid martyr complex, but well… By now it kind of felt like they were at least allies in this fucking mess - and Stiles never could have had sex with anyone he actively hated. At least, not for his first time. And since it was only ever going to be Derek…

Wow, that was not something he needed to worry about right now. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Derek was still sharp enough to do his werewolf lie detector thing. 

“You like that about me,” Stiles wasn’t too confident about that, but he said it anyway. “Now can you put that panel back from the inside? They won’t be able to sniff us out, right?” 

It didn’t matter what the hell Derek thought of him, not when they were in very real and present danger if they didn’t manage to get out through the passageway. All that mattered was that they both escaped in one piece, before their supposedly impenetrable door was ruined. 

“Get in,” Derek ordered. “I’ll handle the panel, but we need to go now.”

Stiles stumbled into the passageway, unused to the rough terrain and the claustrophobic feeling of the walls being so very close to him on all sides. He didn’t dare go too far without his husband, so he waited for several precious seconds as Derek carefully slotted the panel back into place from the inside of the cramped passageway. They were very quiet as they started moving, with Stiles still in front, as there was no way to switch positions - and Derek probably wanted to be ready for any attack from behind, that paranoid bastard. 

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered, knowing that Derek would hear it. 

Because not only had Derek protected him, he had also listened to reason and allowed Stiles to make the plan, even though he was probably not used to that at all. Though Stiles had been working hard in order to get him used to someone else taking the reins from him from time to time. There was no way that Stiles was ever going to stand idly by in a crisis. 

“Turn left at the junction,” Derek was clearly not acknowledging any appreciation. 

Stubborn asshole. Stiles tried not to sigh at him too loudly. 

The passageway continued to be cramped and dark, and so they were probably moving more slowly than Derek would want them to. But that sounded like a Derek problem, because Stiles was actually moving faster than he would have if he’d been making his way down (oh great, now there was a song in his head) by himself. At least now he knew which way he was heading, obediently turning left where his idiot mate had indicated. 

God only knows what would have happened if he’d gotten stuck in here alone. 

“Straight ahead, and the next right,” Derek whispered. “And then another left.”

Since Stiles has no fucking clue about the actual layout of this place, he can only guess where they are going. He thinks Laura’s rooms are somewhere in this direction, and Peter’s are somewhere on the other side of this ridiculous palace - or is it the other way around? 

“We’re almost there,” Derek was surprisingly reassuring. “Can you let me pass?”

Ugh, and also unsurprisingly overprotective. Because of course that idiot wanted to leap out first, distracting any potential attackers and letting that martyr complex come out in full force - because it wasn’t like he actually cared enough for Stiles for that to be his main reason. Stiles wouldn’t even want that to be the reason. Obligation was good enough for him, but he wasn’t going to be protected like some wilting flower, or whatever. 

“Are you trying to get all up on this now?” Stiles turned ninety degrees and pressed his back to the wall. “Because while I applaud the idea, and the change of venue, for once, I’m not crazy about the timing. I feel like there might be a better time to refresh those marks from earlier this morning. Though I totally understand if you’d want to. I’m that irresistible, apparently.” 

Derek made sure the squeeze by him slowly enough that Stiles can see the epic eye roll he made sure to time perfectly for that moment. Well, at least he was no longer as tensed up as he’d been when they ducked into this dark passageway. Stiles had managed that much. 

“Hush now, dear heart,” Derek said mockingly. “No more sweet nothings.” 

Was it weird that Stiles kind of wanted to kick his stupid ass for that one? The nickname was just so profoundly fake - it was nothing that Derek would actually say, because Derek was not the type of man who used pet names unless required by convention and this fake romance plot - that it made Stiles cringe when he heard it. He was sure that if it was used sincerely, it could be quite beautiful, but Stiles had never heard it used sincerely. 

And sweet nothings? Not on his life. 

Stiles watched closely as Derek listened intently before pulling at a lever of some kind and allowing the end of the proverbial tunnel to be revealed. There was nothing Stiles recognized in the room they’d ended up in, but that was probably true for most of the palace. He still hadn’t seen much more than the apartments, the library and the pack dining room. 

This was an elegant room, with a drinks cart right next to the opening in the wall, and leather furniture that was completely unlike anything he’d seen in the other rooms in the castle. This was sleek and pretentious (so many old books and antiques and paintings) - so sleek and pretentious that Stiles felt it was safe to assume that these rooms belonged to the Creepiest Duke. He was the only person who would have that big of a bottle of wolfsbane infused liquor in the same room as the silk bathrobe hanging over the sofa (and ew, Stiles really did not want to contemplate what other kind of shenanigans had gone on here). 

“Stay close,” Derek warned. 

Great, so they were not out of the woods yet (and thank you Taylor Swift for putting  _ that _ song in his head now). And Stiles still had absolutely no idea where they were going - wouldn’t it be nice if Derek ever deigned to share that information with him? Yeah, that would never happen. 

Ugh, he just spotted the cigar case next to the drinks cart. This was definitely Peter’s room. 

“Nephew,” Peter Hale came stumbling towards them. “You’re safe.” 

There was a wound in his leg, it seemed, his pants leg slowly but surely turning… black. So it was wolfsbane, then. That was a very, very bad sign, and they were probably still waiting for the rest of the pack to find them here. Hopefully they hadn’t been hurt. 

“Uncle Peter,” Derek was relieved to see him. “Did they get you anywhere else?” 

The Duke was barely able to stand, and from what Stiles knew of the dangers of wolfsbane, he wouldn’t be able to move for very much longer - they might have to amputate part of the limb if they wanted to keep the dangerous venom from reaching his heart. And Stiles was not the greatest with blood - not that much blood anyway - so he was probably just going to stand here and look away while Derek fussed over his Uncle, supporting him with that solid strength that he somehow always had. It was just such a stupidly Derek thing, that big heart of his. 

It was almost a distraction, Stiles being almost moved by the caring way Derek let his Uncle lean on him so completely. But then he spotted a hint of purple on Peter’s hands - claws? Why would he have his claws out now that Derek was here to help him?

_ Oh no _ . 

“Derek, watch out,” Stiles gasped. 

Because of that warning, somehow Derek was able to step back from the piercing blow just in time. Because his own Uncle was lashing out at him with sharp claws undoubtedly coated in wolfsbane - for a reason that Stiles simply could not comprehend. 

“Why would you bring him here?” Duke Peter stepped back, suddenly moving much more freely, even though he was still sweating profusely. “Family only, Derek. This is a safe room for family, and you bring that human with you. You just had to ruin it.” 

Great, Stiles didn’t even get a name in this whole ridiculous thing. Well, of course he didn’t, because Duke Peter had never bothered to get to know him, seeing him as just another human - just so desperately inferior to the royal family in every single way. He only saw Stiles as an obstacle that could be removed - just more literally than Stiles had been anticipating. Sure, he would have expected him foisting a nice female wolf on Derek to seduce him. That seemed right along the lines of expectation - straight up murder? Not so much. 

Honestly, had he really been stupid enough to underestimate him? Or had he overestimated him? No villain worth his salt would be so obvious about his plans. 

“Are you really cliche enough to do a villain monologue?” Stiles groaned. 

“Hush, boy,” the Duke had already dismissed him again. “My dear nephew, you were never supposed to actually go through with it. You were never supposed to get that far. Duke’s threats were supposed to sway you. But you have always had a weakness for humans, haven’t you, Derek? At least this time it won’t get any valuable wolves killed.” 

Just Stiles, presumably. Or did Peter intend to murder Derek as well? Stiles spotted the potential attack before it landed, so it was hard to tell if it had been meant to kill or to incapacitate Derek. Still, it was a harsh blow that Derek felt keenly - albeit more emotionally than he would have felt it if it had actually landed. A betrayal like that had to hurt, especially coming from his own family, one of the few family members he had left. 

“I know about Kate,” Peter spit out the name with a terrifying coldness in his eyes. “I know that you were weak and gullible and you let them kill us. You let her take my wife from me. And then you didn’t even have the decency to marry someone useful? You fell in love with  _ another _ human, and you had the audacity to like him that way? That’s not how we do things, Derek.” 

Great, just great. Speciesism at it’s fucking finest. 

But mostly Stiles just looked at Derek, who was every bit as pale as Peter was. Sure, he was trying to keep it together, but the revelation that his Uncle had turned on him and blamed him for the deaths of most of their family? That was probably tearing him apart. Stiles had figured out the martyr complex a while again, and this was only going to make it worse. And who was going to have to put Werewolf Dumpty back together again? (If such a thing could even be done.) Stiles, naturally, because he had the misfortune of being married to him. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Stiles had to distract Peter from Derek for just a second. “He isn’t even in love with me, you dumbass. We married because of bigoted assholes like you.” 

It wasn’t much of a distraction, but he hoped he gave Derek some valuable seconds to pull himself together. It looked like he was going to need them, because the Duke was shifting, and Derek still looked stupidly human next to him.

Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he doing anything? 

“I should have been the Alpha,” the Asshole Duke’s fangs were now on full display. “Talia should have just given me the power, instead of your soft-hearted sister. She was never going to make the right decision for our people. I would have saved us all. Maybe I still can.” 

Laura had a spine made of steel and the ability to think of what would benefit her people, even though that required her to make personal sacrifices. She was the superior monarch, and it was obvious that Queen Talia (may she rest in peace) knew that as well. Of course she hadn’t given her vindictive baby brother that power that he so desperately craved. 

Anyone who wanted the power that badly was ill-suited to it. 

“You won’t touch Laura,” Derek roared, and attacked. 

Ever the protective brother - why was Stiles not surprised? 

The ensuing battle was almost impossibly fast, which was probably only normal for two werewolves going at each other so viciously. Stiles was unable to keep track of exactly where the claws were, and he knew that made him more of a liability than it did an asset. So he gently backed away, figuring he might as well go back into the passageway to make sure he was not going to get in the way. He was not going to be the thing that made Derek lose this fight. 

Derek roared, and Stiles gasped, because even at the ridiculous speed these idiots were moving he could spot black blood slowly starting to drip from Derek’s bicep. His mate was hurt and there was nothing he could do about it, because he didn’t know exactly how to fix this kind of wolfsbane poisoning, and even if he did have more of the exact strain that Peter had used on his claws, he wouldn’t have been able to do anything with them still battling fiercely. 

It seemed that Derek was at a disadvantage, with his claws hardly being able to do damage that did not heal almost immediately. Peter’s claws were the more dangerous weapon, and Stiles watched as two more wounds appeared, this time on Derek’s torso. This was going south, and fast, and there had to be something that Stiles could do about it. 

He didn’t want to leave Derek, but perhaps he had to go and get help somewhere. 

“Stay there, little human,” Peter warned the second Stiles moved deeper into the cramped passageway. “You wouldn’t want me to stick my claws in his throat, would you?” 

Stiles turned back to see Peter ready to do exactly what he promised, Derek struggling feebly with half a dozen wounds now marring his skin and black blood soaking into his clothes. One clawed hand was over his throat, the other was pushed into a lung, leaving Derek gasping for breath. The pained sound was haunting and Stiles never wanted to hear that again. 

“He’ll do it anyway,” Derek said, dismissive even though he was losing consciousness. 

Yeah, Stiles had guessed that much - but that did not mean that he was going to give up on Derek. He looked around frantically for something, anything that could be used as a weapon to get Peter away from Derek. But all there was was the drinks cart, and Stiles was not strong enough to throw the entire thing at his wonderful uncle in law. He didn’t have a knife or a gun, and he didn’t have any wolfsbane that would make the wound stick. 

He could offer Peter a drink, though. And his bathrobe. Pathetic. 

“I’ll come in if you let him go,” Stiles decided on a whim. 

“How noble of you,” Duke Peter looked like he wished he could do that villainous mocking applause thing. “Sacrificing yourself for your mate. I didn’t expect you to be that selfless.” 

It was honestly a surprise for everyone - Derek certainly looked surprised - Stiles included. He had not expected it, but his mouth always worked faster than his brain, and he felt like it would at least give him a bit more time to put together a semblance of a plan. Because he was sure there was something he could do, something he’d seen that would work. 

“Me neither,” Stiles shrugged as he got all the way to the edge of the passageway and prepared to step into the room once again. 

“Damn it, Stiles,” Derek was furious with him, naturally. “Don’t do this.” 

Immediately, Peter’s claw raked over Derek’s throat, and black blood started spilling out as Derek’s eyes went vacant. Stiles felt bile coming up his throat and grabbed at the drink cart to support himself, because… Because… Because Derek. 

“Shut up, nephew,” Peter watched the body fall to the floor. 

Body. There was a body. Derek was the body. 

How was Peter ever going to explain this away? Was he going to blame his buddy Deucalion for the tragic attack that killed his nephew? He could lie about that, because most likely Deucalion was involved in all of the madness. Was he going after Laura next? To pave the way to put a crown on his own head, to make himself the Royal Alpha? Stiles would not be surprised. 

He pointedly did not look at Derek - at what was left of Derek - and instead tried to figure out what he’d stupidly grabbed hold of in his attempt to find support. It was the cigar case, and in his fumbling he’d managed to make the expensive lighter fall out onto the cart. He scrambled for it, holding onto it as the first semblance of a plan started to come together in his mind. 

“So, I’m next,” Stiles was scrambling for a distraction. 

“Of course you are, little human,” Duke Peter laughed mockingly. “You know, if Derek had just allowed my niece to turn you, I might have actually learned to respect you. You’re a decent actor - you had me half believing you actually cared about him. Derek certainly bought it.” 

Wait, did this idiot think that Stiles had been lying to Derek this whole time about his intentions? That Derek actually thought that Stiles was into him? That Derek was into Stiles? Hilarious. 

So hilarious that Duke Creepster was actually distracted enough for Stiles to rip off a piece of fabric from his shirt and hold it close to the lighter. All he needed was to figure out the bottle with the highest alcohol content - and the most wolfsbane - and he was good to go. 

“Derek is a romantic,” Stiles was careful not to stray from the truth. 

“And we both know where that gets you,” Peter was still laughing. 

If Stiles had known the Duke before the fire, that probably would have made him sad, seeing as he’d sounded so upset about his wife before. Right now it just made him want to roll his eyes at the bullshit the man was spouting - because this was just like some teenager who’d gotten dumped once suddenly thinking they were all edgy and bitter and whatever. Okay, maybe Peter had actually suffered great pains, but the way he was acting was all teenage drama queen. 

“Right, Stiles,” Peter was apparently ready to get down to business. “Any last requests?” 

For Peter to die. That was his last request. It was not going to bring Derek back, but it was certainly going to make Stiles feel better. And wasn’t that ironic (shut up Alanis)? Because that was going to make him just like Peter - only Stiles was actually getting his revenge on the right person, instead of trying to harm an innocent bystander, or several of them, like Duke Creepy. 

Well, he wasn’t going to get Stiles too. Not if he managed to get the final ingredient, and put everything together before the Asshole Duke figured out what he was up to. 

“Well, I was going to request one last kiss from Derek,” Stiles was done trying to hide how badly his hands were trembling, “but you killed him. So I can’t do that. So I’m getting a drink.” 

He made sure to keep the werewolf in his line of sight as he grabbed the bottle that looked like it was mostly alcohol, opening it up and sniffing for wolfsbane as best he could. When he figured it was the best he was going to do, he used his best attempt at sleight of hand (like any idiot teen, he’d attempted to learn a couple magic tricks once upon a time) to stuff the strip of clothing into the bottle. Stiles fiddled with the lighter and managed to light the other end of the cloth on the first go. He watched it catch fire, and knew that time was up. 

“Do you want one?” Stiles asked, just to distract the Duke before he flung the makeshift Molotov cocktail right at his smug face. 

For once, his high school lacrosse training paid off. He watched the bottle strike the mad werewolf right on the claws he’d been holding up to hide his face, watched the bottle shatter and the flames hit Duke Peter right in the face. 

“Hope it’s the right vintage,” Stiles muttered to himself, as he headed towards the nearest door and ran like hell. 

That was when he ran right into Laura, shifted and with blood shining on her extended claws. 

“Where is that asshole?” Laura’s eyes were bright red. 

“In there,” Stiles pointed to the room. “I may have set him on fire.” 

Laura roared and leapt into the room. Stiles waited until everything was silent. He didn’t want to watch Laura finish him off, didn’t want to watch her discover what had happened to Derek. 

Not when he felt stupidly responsible. 

“Stiles?” Laura suddenly dragged him into the room with two bodies. “Stay with him. We need a medic, but I can’t leave him alone. Please, Stiles.” 

She was cradling Derek’s head, treating him so gently as if she just wanted to make sure that he was comfortable while she left him to go find… A medic? Why would a dead man ever need a medic? Werewolves didn’t have the ability to resurrect people, right?

No, people would have known if that was a thing. 

So did that mean that Derek wasn’t…. Could it really? 

“I’ll stay,” Stiles promised before he could think about believing it. “I promise.” 

* * *

There was no way that Stiles was looking away from the bed for even a second. Sure, he’d blinked a few times (and some of those times, the blinking lasted about thirty minutes), but he was not going to lose sight of his idiot mate ever again. 

“You’re still here,” Laura suddenly was right behind him. 

“I’m going to put a bell on you,” Stiles warned. “A really obnoxious one. It’s a good thing there’s nurses and a doctor nearby, because I almost had a fucking heart attack.” 

The wolves had some very capable medics around for a species that healed from just about anything. Which was interesting - was that a new thing Laura had established when she became queen, or had it always been this way? Stiles wouldn’t know, seeing as his idiot martyr of a husband had never even mentioned that they had a hospital wing - or just a couple of rooms that were mostly used for medical issues. Naturally Derek’s room was a private one, even though the others were full of staff members who’d been harmed in the siege. 

It was totally accurate to call it a siege, right? His brain wasn’t exactly working properly. 

“Save the dramatics for my brother,” Laura nudged him with her shoulder. “He’s the only one who finds that attractive in a mate. God knows why.” 

Well, first of all, that was just rude, so of course Laura said it to him. Whenever she showed up - and she did at least once every hour - she made fun of him until he was all fired up and arguing with her like he used to with Derek (and maybe would again, someday). It made him feel less completely helpless, and Laura had figured that out somehow, that Stiles processed things by arguing and getting angry and blowing off steam at other people. 

And second, why did it matter that Derek liked that sort of thing?

“I’m a fucking delight,” Stiles snarked at Laura. 

“A fucking delight who hasn’t left his side,” Laura was apparently not so easily drawn into a bit of banter, at least not right now. “Seriously, Stiles, he’s going to be fine. He’s got the best care, and he just needs some more time to let himself heal. You know he’s basically indestructible right?” 

Basically indestructible? Clearly Laura hadn’t been there when her fucked up uncle had his claws in Derek’s chest, when Derek had dropped to the floor as if there wasn’t even a spark of life left trying to keep him upwards. Clearly Laura hadn’t watched him basically die in front of her, not the way Stiles had. And clearly Stiles was overly dramatic and knew nothing at all about the details of werewolf healing and what they could and could not recover from. 

“I beg to differ,” Stiles motioned at all of Derek, unconscious and far too still. 

“Basically,” Laura repeated, more than slightly pedantic about that but all the more real for it. “He’s basically exhausted himself trying to heal from those wounds. He needs some more sleep and a lot of fluids and a truly astonishing amount of meat and other protein-heavy foods, and he’ll be back to ravishing you in dark corners in no time.” 

Stiles had been here for almost thirty-six hours, and still Derek hadn’t woken up even once - so maybe they were wrong. Maybe werewolves were not as indestructible as Laura claimed they were. Because if they were, shouldn’t Derek have woken up by now? Wasn’t twenty-four hours enough time to heal from mortal wounds? 

Yeah, okay, he’d just heard himself and he knew it sounded fucking ridiculous, but it was the kind of instant healing magic that he was expecting from a werewolf. Not a single book had mentioned that healing could take this long, and Stiles had been reading a lot of books in the past thirty-six hours. Because what else was he going to do, just sit here? Just watch Derek breathe like he was in a soap opera and Stiles was the love of his life, instead of just his stupid husband? Or conversely, go back to their apartments and pretend nothing was wrong? 

At this point, Stiles was pretty damn sure that he couldn’t sleep without Derek next to him. 

“I’m supposed to be here,” Stiles wasn’t even touching any of that. “That’s what a mate does.” 

The tradition made for a pretty decent excuse. He had every right to be here, as Derek’s mate, and people would expect him to be by Derek’s side this whole time. So he didn’t even have to contemplate leaving, because he was supposed to be here. He didn’t have to contemplate sleeping alone and almost losing Derek for good and almost dying himself and almost murdering the Duke until Laura finished the job. He could just sit here and read. 

“We both know you’re not the traditional mate,” Laura was actually trying to give him an out. 

“To all of Triskele I am,” Stiles was just fine keeping up this particular part of the ruse. 

Even though all of Triskele probably didn’t even know what the hell was going on. He doubted that the details of the attack had made it into the news, especially the details of what had happened to the Duke and what role he’d played in it. The entire thing was probably going to be blamed on Deucalion, and the Creeper Duke was probably being painted as a victim who’d perished trying to defend his nephew and his nephew’s mate from the intruders. 

That was probably the story the citizens of Triskele knew, and the next chapter of that story was that the Prince’s loving husband just couldn’t bear to leave his side at such a difficult time. 

“And to Derek?” Laura was far too perceptive for her own good. 

To Derek, Stiles was just the pain in the ass he’d been saddled with because they’d both been far too impulsive at that stupid party in the East Room. Shit, Stiles could practically feel Derek’s weight on top of him still, those teeth at his neck as if Derek actually thought of him as a threat. Not the way Derek had been on top of Stiles with his teeth at Stiles’ neck because Stiles had basically begged Derek to bite him harder. That was last week, not several months ago. 

Shit, had it really just been a few months since he’d met Derek properly?

“I’m supposed to be here,” Stiles finally said, because that was all he could say. 

What else was he going to say? Was he going to admit to being scared still, to still feeling wrong-footed about absolutely everything? Was he going to admit that he was stupidly worried about Derek, and that he’d seen what his life was going to be without his husband, and he hadn’t liked it at all? Sure, there was the so-called freedom, but what did that even mean without Derek to antagonize him about stupid stuff all the time? Without his werewolf space heater making their bed uncomfortably warm? Without Derek rolling his eyes because Stiles  _ still _ hadn’t read the books he was supposed to have read by now? Without the fighting? 

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Laura broke the silence. 

Taking care of him? Honestly, Stiles had failed Derek. Sure, he’d managed to get Derek away from their apartment with his ridiculous powers of persuasion, but he hadn’t exactly managed to get Derek away from Fucking Peter in time. Heck, Stiles had almost gotten his mate killed because he just couldn’t stop baiting a sociopathic werewolf. 

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles tried not to sound too harsh, but he feared he didn’t exactly have a solid grip on his emotions. “He’s the one who took care of me, the one who protected me, who leapt in front of… That asshole saved my life. Stupid idiot with his stupid martyr complex.” 

He was mad at Derek still, furious. Because how dare he protect Stiles, and go out first and want Stiles to be safe even though he was risking everything himself? How dare he care so little about his own safety and far too much about Stiles’? 

“If something had happened to him,” Laura started, and then stopped. 

“No,” Stiles refused to even entertain the possibility. 

Look, from the glimpses he’d gotten of that life, he didn’t exactly want to think about it any more than he absolutely had to. And since Derek was supposedly healing right on schedule, or whatever, he didn’t actually have to think about any of it. And so he was basically going to stick his fingers in his ears and hum loudly to pretend that they were not having this conversation. 

“I’d make you my heir,” Laura continued, and Stiles’ heart dropped into his stomach. “Anyone but Peter. Even if he hadn’t… Even if he’d been on our side in all of this. I’d choose you. You’d be a good King. Just, fair. Controversial as hell. You’d make us all better.” 

What the hell was she thinking? Had she been smoking wolfsbane or something? Was that something wolves did instead of doing drugs, because that sounded like a pretty good reason for why the hell Laura would say that. That had to have been the stupidest choice of heir since, since… Stiles couldn’t even think about anything equally stupid. Because picking a human as King of a werewolf nation? Picking  _ Stiles _ of all people? Terrible idea. 

“I’d get killed by the rest of the werewolf supremacy after two days,” Stiles corrected, trying to find a way to make light of this conversation. “They really don’t seem to like me. Perhaps it’s because I somehow keep insisting on proving their archaic bullshit wrong. Or they just don’t like my charming personality. Derek used to say - he says I grow on people. Like a fungus.” 

Talking about Derek in the past sense made him cringe. He had to start using present tense, even in a joke, because past tense meant that Derek was not going to wake up and make fun of him. And Stiles refused to accept that idea - he had never been more excited for someone to roll their eyes at him and tell him that he was being an idiot about things. 

“He would,” Laura almost laughed at that. “I’m very serious, Stiles. I don’t have an heir, yet, even though I probably should have started to look for a mate the second they put me on the throne. I will definitely start looking now - I’m sure there’s a kind Canadian just waiting to marry a Queen, or a dashing Brit? Perhaps I could go crazy and marry someone from Australia.” 

That sucked. Hearing that Laura didn’t exactly consider love as being a part of her choice of mate. Sure, Derek hadn’t gotten the option, and maybe he resented Laura for it at least a little, but Stiles wanted better for his sister. He wanted at least someone in this fucked up family to live happily ever after. And that was not going to be Derek, so it might as well be Laura - because she deserved to be happy. Even more so after the Duke’s betrayal. 

“Someone who appreciates you,” Stiles had to get that out. “Someone who lets you be Laura as well as Her Royal Highness Queen Laura Natalia Hale of Triskele. I feel like you probably have more titles than that, but I’ve never been interested enough to memorize all of them.” 

Stiles was clearly a terrible Prince, didn’t Laura see that? How she ever even considered him for the job of her heir was completely beyond him. He didn’t even know about all the proper royal titles - heck, it was crazy enough that he’d actually managed to remember Laura’s middle name from that time Derek mentioned that they were both named after their parents. Derek’s middle name had been his father’s name, and Laura’s was her mother’s. 

“No, you were too busy memorizing the shape of my little brother’s dick,” Laura floored him. 

“And now I can see you’re related,” Stiles managed to say. “Same terrible sense of humor.” 

Sometimes it was far too easy to see that Laura and Derek were related, and that they’d effectively grown up together, just the two of them. They had exactly the same way of coming out of nowhere with the perfect snarky comment, and while Laura’s eyebrows weren’t nearly as glorious, she had the same way of speaking with them that Derek did. 

He couldn’t imagine having someone like that. Sure, Stiles had some traits that made him a mini version of his Dad, but Stiles was so very much Claudia’s son that it had hurt his Dad to see it from time to time. And they’d never been equals, not like Derek and Laura. 

“Hey, Batman,” Erica popped in for just a second. “I promise not to try and make you leave again, but will you at least take this phone call off my hands. The President of the United States is not very fun to talk to when he’s heard his son and son-in-law have been attacked.” 

Well,  _ fuck _ . 

Erica looked pretty good for someone who spent a full twelve hours on bedrest after the attack - she’d been mostly healed by eighteen hours, and completely back to normal after twenty. Boyd had watched over her closely - as a mate was supposed to, damn it - and made sure that Catwoman was back in her leathers by twenty-four hours after battle. 

A good man, that one. 

But Stiles was obviously avoiding dealing with another good man. He wasn’t going to be able to avoid his Dad forever, especially not because he was probably extremely worried after hearing about the attack on the Royal Palace and then not hearing from his son for a day and a half after said attack. He’d probably heard about Derek’s injuries as well - and this probably wasn’t the first time he’d attempted to reach out to Stiles, to make him talk about it. 

“Hi Dad,” Stiles tried to sound as cheery as possible. 

“Oh, thank God,” was the response. “Son, I’m so glad you’re alright.” 

Oh. Yeah. That was… Of course he needed to talk to his Dad. Of course he needed to hear that gruff yet loving voice telling him that he was glad that Stiles was still whole. Of course they both needed to talk to banish specters of Claudia Stilinski’s death yet again. Of course they both needed to make sure that they were not alone, and wouldn’t be for a long time. 

“That’s all Derek,” Stiles stupidly admitted. “The idiot actually thinks I’m worth saving, so he played Superman. Even though they had all the Kryptonite in the world.” 

Wow, the wolfsbane and Kryptonite analogy was pretty solid. He was kind of proud of his frazzled mind for putting that together somehow. It was the perfect way to try and make light of things, because if he started talking about how scared he’d been, he was never going to be able to stop crying. He was already tearing up just at the sound of his Dad’s voice, of the feeling of safety he was always going to associate with it. Dad was here, so he was going to be alright. 

“Oh kiddo,” his Dad sounded like he wanted to give Stiles a hug right then and there. “I can’t disagree with him. He’s a good kid. I’m glad you were with him. How is he?” 

A good kid. That was about the highest honor that Derek was ever going to get from his father in law, at least out loud and so openly. Soon John Stilinski was going to call Derek ‘son’ and thank him far too solemnly for saving Stiles’ life in this crazy time, and Derek was going to get all gruff and embarrassed and maybe even blush (fuck, Stiles really missed that stupid blush). And then Stiles was going to make fun of him and Derek was going to be an asshole about it while blushing even more and they were going to be as happy as they could be. 

Which was honestly more than he’d been expecting to get out of this fucked up marriage. 

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Stiles took another glance at the unmoving figure in the bed. “Laura says it’ll be a while longer, because of how much damage he took protecting me from that fucking... I think he stopped breathing a couple of times while we were waiting for the cavalry, and he was this close to making me cut off his arm, but I didn’t. Fun times for everyone.” 

Derek had been awake briefly, and delirious, ordering Stiles to cut off his arm before the poison got him, and Stiles didn’t have the heart to tell him that his arm was the least he had to worry about. He’d just promised that someone was on the way with the cure, and that Stiles would do it if they didn’t get there in time. Knowing that they would, of course. 

How much longer was a while longer? Inquiring minds wanted to know. Stiles wanted an estimate, something quantifiable that he could wait for. Because just aimlessly waiting until Derek decided that he was ready to finally wake the fuck up already? Yeah, that was not Stiles’ speed at all - he needed the cold hard facts right about now. 

Mostly he just needed Derek to wake the fuck up already and make fun of him. 

“Have you left his side at all?” John Stilinski was a very smart man. 

“Only when I had to,” Stiles did not see the need to be dishonest about this. “And I’m not leaving until he kicks me out himself. I’m his mate. I’m supposed to be here.” 

And he was just going to keep reminding people of that until they left him the fuck alone about it, and just let him read up on werewolf mating ceremonies until he found the bit that Derek recited by heart all those weeks ago. He didn’t exactly pick the book on purpose, but now that he was reading it, he kind of wanted to be reminded of a time when things were simpler, when he fucking hated his husband to be and he just had to worry about playing nice, not about werewolf terrorism and Derek never actually waking up again. 

“Stiles,” his Dad was probably not going to let that slide. 

“You’re the one who bonded us,” Stiles acted as if this was all fine and good. “You haven’t forgotten, right? The whole thing with the ribbon. Very kinky of you, Dad.” 

Deflection was one of his mad skills, so to say. He was good at cracking a joke at just the right time to keep people from seeing through him - shame that his Dad knew him far too well to fall for it, even if they were just talking on the phone and he couldn’t actually see Stiles’ face during this conversation. It was probably in the tone of his voice this time. 

“It’s okay to be worried about him,” John Stilinski once again was not fooled. “It’s not strange that you care about your husband. Especially from what I’ve been hearing from your friends whenever I’ve tried to call. They seem to think you and the Prince have been getting…” 

Now that was actively really fucking mortifying. And if he ever found out who’d squealed to his Dad he was going to put wolfsbane in their coffee. He really did not want his Dad to have any kind of details about exactly what Stiles and Derek had been up to since getting married. Stiles had boundaries for that very purpose, and he was never going to talk to his Dad about any of it, not ever. It was bad enough that the werewolves basically smelled everything on him. 

Having his Dad know things was basically the worst version of that. 

“Nope,” Stiles heard his voice crack on that word. “We are not talking about that. Ever.” 

There was just no way that he was ever going to have another sex talk with his Dad. They’d been through most of the awkwardness during puberty and there was no reason to do it again, especially since Stiles was a grown-ass adult with a fucking husband and everything. 

But maybe the fucking of said husband was what they should talk about? Hell no, there was just no way that Stiles was going to talk to anyone about the things he was doing with Derek. 

Not even if he never got to do it again after this. 

“Stiles,” Laura almost yanked out his arm.

“Dad, I have to go,” Stiles knew it was too convenient a moment, but he really didn’t care, because… “I think Derek is waking up. I’ll call back when I know more. I hope.” 

Stiles almost let the phone clatter to the ground when he saw that his mate was moving around on the bed, his eyes fluttering as he prepared to wake up after over thirty-six hours of sleep slash unconsciousness. What else was he supposed to do but look at the way Derek’s muscles bulged and his lashes fluttered so prettily until his eyes finally opened? What else was he supposed to do but leap towards the bed? He needed to be right next to Derek now. 

“Fucking finally,” Stiles said, and tried not to give away just how happy he was to see his husband’s ridiculous kaleidoscope eyes looking at him again. “Don’t you know I do not have the ability to sit patiently by your bedside? These hands were not made for knitting!” 

Sure, he tried knitting with his Mom way back when, because she thought it might have been a good outlet for his extremely restless hands. But that hadn’t been all that successful, and he was way too wound up to do much of anything at the moment. Even his werewolf ritual book had been forgotten at the sight of Derek waking up from his quote unquote nap. 

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was barely a croak, but it was there. 

It was good to hear it again, good to know that Derek’s last words to him hadn’t been panicked and less than a perfect farewell. It was good to get an actual sense that Derek was alive and breathing and moving and talking again - sure, he’d technically known that Derek was alive and that he was going to wake up after a few more hours of whatever that coma thing was, but he hadn’t really been able to believe it until Derek actually woke up. 

Even now it seemed almost unreal, as if Derek would disappear if Stiles dared to touch him. 

“I do not rock the grieving widower look,” Stiles huffed, turning away from Derek. 

“Red’s more your color,” Derek responded, his hand reaching for Stiles’. 

His idiot mate certainly was not wrong about that, but Stiles struggled to think of a time he’d been wearing red and Derek had taken notice of what he was wearing. In fact, it took him quite a while to come to the conclusion - Derek had been alluding to their wedding. 

“You just liked seeing me naked except for that ribbon, you pervert,” Stiles clearly had his usual trouble trying to keep his brain connected to his mouth. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.” 

As an apology, he figured it was fine to let Derek grab on to his hand and squeeze a little, trying to show that he was still here. Not that holding hands was a thing they did often, unless they were trying to sell their epic love story to the adoring masses. And since Laura was the only other person in the room, there was no need to sell anything. 

That didn’t mean that Stiles was going to let go of his husband, though. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Derek sounded so tired still. “You were right.” 

A joke and a come-on just seconds after waking up? Now that was not something Stiles would have expected - it was much better than the awkwardly serious conversation he’d been dreading so fucking much. Honestly, Derek making Laura uncomfortable with the allusions to the wedding night was kind of glorious - but seeing as Derek had hardly even looked at Laura, Stiles wasn’t exactly sure that was the reason for the flirtatious banter. 

Still, so much better than some heartfelt confession of whatever. This was not that kind of Regency romance novel. In fact, it was more PornHub these days - except for the attack and hospital thing, and… Yeah, there was no good comparison here. 

“Gross,” Laura clearly said it just to make them remember she was still there. 

“Hey Laurie,” Derek could barely keep his eyes open long enough to see her. “Take care of Stiles, okay? He’s an idiot and he’s impossible to keep out of harm’s way.” 

Oh, Derek was already tired again. Stiles tried really hard not to be disappointed, because he had about a dozen stupid jokes to crack at Derek, and several other ways that he needed to make sure that Derek was still very much here and alive. And now that he’d woken up and gone straight back to sleep (or would, any second now), Stiles would have to give him space. 

He didn’t want to go back to the apartments to sleep alone. 

“Go back to sleep, asshole,” Stiles told him, only slightly offended. 

Derek rolled his eyes at him, and Stiles had missed that look a stupid amount, even though it had probably been less than forty-eight hours since he’d seen it last. But that was probably just a thing that he’d gotten used to - he never had to go forty-eight hours without Derek sassing him and making fun of him. Not since he’d moved into the palace. Not for four months or so now. 

“Your foreplay is exhausting to witness,” Laura apparently had to get the last word in. 

Stiles had to smile at that, and watch Derek smile as well as he drifted off to sleep, still clinging to Stiles’ hand with a hint of werewolf strength. 

Seemed Derek didn’t want him to leave either. 

* * *

Things should have gone back to normal by now, right? Or whatever passed for normal for someone married to a werewolf prince. Stiles should have been arguing with Derek again between bouts of athletic sex - and he wasn’t. Because Derek was an idiot who wasn’t letting himself heal and Stiles was not going to touch him until he was a hundred and fifty percent sure that Derek was perfectly fine and whole and healthy. 

“He’s up and moving again, huh?” Laura found him, alone in the apartments. 

“He’s more impatient than I am,” Stiles huffed, trying to clean up at least some of the mess. “He really does not know how to give himself time to heal. You wolves really suck at being patients, you know that? I practically had to beat that idiot off me with a stick!” 

Derek had been… flirtatious to say the least. He’d been awfully persuasive, trying to prove to Stiles that he was back to his usual fitness. Stiles was going to need to hear that from a doctor or other medical expert before he let Derek put his hands on him again. He was not going to let his husband get hurt because he’d been too horny to hold off until he was fully healed. 

Stiles was not going to murder his husband with sex. 

“He’s all healed, Stiles,” Laura sounded far too gentle. 

“Supposedly,” Stiles was not so sure. 

It had been two days since Derek had first woken up, and that did not seem like nearly enough time for Derek to regain his strength. Forty-eight hours ago Derek had been struggling to stay awake, and now he was back to his usual two hundred percent? It seemed impossible, and Stiles was going to need at least another three days before he was sure that Derek was actually healed and whole - and well enough to fool around. 

Maybe kissing would be okay, but three more days for sex. To let Derek heal. 

“I know how our healing works,” Laura was not going to let him get away with it. “And we have some of the best healers in the world - the best in the country. They’ve looked at him, and they’ve given him the all-clear. He’s fine. He’s back to his usual strength too.” 

Sure, but Derek had been dying in Stiles’ arms just four days ago, and there was just no way that anyone could heal from that in such a short amount of time. Even werewolves had limits to their healing, and Stiles was not buying it. 

It wasn’t just because he didn’t feel ready yet, because he didn’t feel like he could actually believe that the horrors were over and they could get back to normal. It wasn’t. 

“Oh, I know,” Stiles really did not mean to say that out loud. 

“Even though you haven’t had any kind of sex with him?” Laura raised her eyebrows. 

Great, now the entire pack was going to have opinions about Stiles withholding sex from his husband. Because they probably all figured that out the second they saw Stiles and/or Derek - and not just because they weren’t really surgically attached these days. In fact, Stiles had actually managed some privacy over the course of the last two days. 

“The fact that you know that about your brother is just…” Stiles couldn’t even find the right word. 

“That’s just part of being a pack, little brother,” Laura nudged him, and Stiles pointedly pretended that he had not heard that nickname. “We all know far too much about everyone, but we’d never hurt each other with it. We all have far too much dirt on each other.” 

Well, there were certainly a lot of jokes about the information the wolves had gathered on their packmates, but it never really turned nasty. And sure, sometimes it was probably helpful to know what a friend was feeling in order to be of help. But Stiles still couldn’t get past the idea of his lost privacy, not completely - especially with the information being so unbalanced, with him being the only one in the pack who wasn’t able to read exactly what his pack mates were feeling or what they’d been doing and who they’d been doing it with. 

It wasn’t fair, not for him. But for the other wolves, sure. He understood that much. 

“Mutually assured destruction,” Stiles was almost smiling at that. 

“Exactly,” Laura nodded. “Now, are you going to tell me how you know Derek is at full strength?” 

Ugh, well, it wasn’t a sex thing (sadly?) so it was probably fine to discuss. It was just that Derek had been so stubborn and so convincing and Stiles had been so fucking tempted to break his own rules, just so he could get his hands all over Derek. To make sure that he touched every inch of his skin, felt all of him everywhere - to have ‘thank God you’re alive’ sex, basically. But he’d just barely managed to resist, because Derek wasn’t ready. 

No matter how much he wanted to be. No matter that Stiles was… scared. 

“He’s a stubborn asshole, that’s why,” Stiles ducked his head so that Laura wouldn’t see how much he liked that. “When I told him I wasn’t going to lay a hand on him until I was completely sure that he was healed, he had to show off his exercise regimen to make sure that I knew he was just as strong as he was before he got injured. And the fucker had to do it shirtless, too.” 

Laura was laughing at him, he could just tell. He wasn’t exactly looking her in the eye, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how she’d respond to his words. She was stupidly like her brother sometimes, and pretty much any member of their pack would have laughed at this. Clearly they all shared the same terrible sense of humor. 

“He knows you well,” Laura chuckled. 

He really did, damn him. 

“Far too well,” Stiles tried to pretend like he was not pouting at being so  _ seen _ . “But he knows better than to try that again - no, he doesn’t. He really doesn’t. He’s just going to keep torturing me until he has his way, won’t he? I’ve created a monster.” 

The mortifying ordeal of being known was still a lot to deal with, especially at a time like this. He had never expected that he was ever going to be able to get along with Derek in any kind of way, let alone that they’d eventually manage to establish a friendship and a partnership that he’d never really felt with anyone before. Sure, he’d never had a husband before, but it wasn’t just about that. It was about Derek seeing him, warts and all, and sniping at him for all of his petty flaws, but still standing by him and protecting him when needed. 

Stiles had never wanted that from him, had never even asked for that. But he still got it. 

“It’s okay, you know,” Laura nudged him again. 

That Derek was a monster? His brain was clearly going to get him sent to the Bad Place, because all that he could think of was Derek being a monster in the sack, and that was clearly not what his sister in law was alluding to. She was probably trying to tell him that it was okay if he gave in sooner than he’d planned, that it was okay if he just went with the flow and let himself be happy with his idiot husband. And that was not something that was actually okay. 

“What’s okay?” Stiles was happily playing dumb. 

“It’s okay if you were worried,” Laura turned serious almost at the drop of a hat. “It’s okay if you were scared he wouldn’t make it. I was too. It’s okay if you need some time to adjust to your feelings. It’s probably a lot to deal with. We’ve put a lot on you, lately.” 

Worried? No, that was not a thing that Stiles had felt, not related to Derek. Because why would he be doing that? Why would he be having any kind of feelings about this? 

“Feelings?” Stiles scoffed, and hoped really hard that it sounded even remotely convincing. 

“Wow, I think Derek would be able to hear your heart pounding right about now,” Laura was almost laughing in his face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was already on his way back here, just to check up on you. So, let me make this quick before he does get back here.” 

Was this where the shovel talk came in? He hadn’t gotten much of one before, not like this anyway, but of course Laura waited for them to almost die before she went for it. Well, honestly he would rather have an uncomfortable shovel talk than have her actually wanting to talk to him about his non-existent feelings. Because he’d rather resurrect Duke Peter. 

“Laura,” Stiles whined, because he was not ready to hear this. 

“I know it didn’t start out real,” Laura was going exactly where Stiles did not want her to go. “I know you hated each other, and I know that’s basically foreplay now, to call each other names and fight about stupid stuff. And I’d say to each their own. But you care about my brother. He cares about you. Congratulations, you’ve managed to make this work, somehow.” 

Nope, this was not a conversation that he was ever going to have with anyone, and especially not with his Queen and sister in law. Because Laura had been one of the people making them do this, and while it hadn’t turned out nearly as awful as Stiles had been expecting it to be, there was still so little about this thing that had been Stiles’ choice - or Derek’s. Wasn’t it basically just Stockholm Syndrome? They’d been forced on each other and they adapted. 

Or was that too harsh a judgment of the situation? It was. It really was. But he couldn’t say that. 

“He’s not as much of a dipshit as I thought he’d be,” Stiles tried to shrug casually. 

He probably just ended up flailing awkwardly at Laura, because that was just his life. But at least an attempt at being super fucking casual was made. He had to at least try, right? 

“Derek’s a bit of a dipshit,” Laura actually agreed with that. 

“He’s my friend now, I think,” Stiles still was not sure about the friendship thing. “My friend with benefits, but mostly the benefits. We’re not really good at the whole friend thing. We’re good at not being enemies, and we’ve gotten really good at sex. Like, so good. Blowing my mind,  _ that  _ good, but that’s not the point. We managed to make being forced together less than awful, but that’s all it is. The rest is just his epic fucking martyr complex.” 

There was no way that Laura could deny that last bit - she was fully aware that Derek didn’t value himself nearly as much as he should, even though she might not have known the reasons why as completely as Stiles did (and wasn’t that a kick in the head?). Of course Derek was going to attempt to sacrifice himself for his husband - he would have done that for just about anyone, because he didn’t think he actually fucking mattered. 

Derek was never going to put himself first, that idiot. 

“Sure,” Laura was fucking lying, because she didn’t buy that at all. “So why would you save him? Guilt? You don’t have nearly the complex he does. But you still saved him.” 

Well,  _ fuck _ . Laura was far too perceptive and far too willing to poke at stuff that Stiles had been wilfully ignoring ever since Derek had almost died. Stiles wanted to avoid the memories, and he wanted even more to avoid the emotions the events surrounding the attack had stirred up. Because there were so many of them, and he didn’t know what any of it meant, even if Stiles was supposed to be the research guy. He was the guy who was supposed to know all of the things, and when it came to this? He really fucking didn’t. 

He was basically Cher Horowitz - Clueless. 

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, because he thought he knew that much. 

“That was a lie,” Laura sing-songed as she called him out on it. 

That couldn’t have been a lie, because Stiles actually had no idea why he’d done it, not completely. Or if he did, he hadn’t exactly put that together properly yet, and he was going to make sure that he never touched upon those motives. Because it wasn’t just that he didn’t know why, it was that he really did not want to look too closely at why he’d been so ready to murder the Creepy Duke for Derek’s sake. Why he’d basically shut down when he thought Derek had been dead, and why he was so concerned for Derek’s continued well-being now. 

None of these things pointed to anything Stiles wanted to explore. 

“Are you lying to Laura again?” Derek strode into the room as if he hadn’t just been on the other side of the palace forcing himself through another check-up because of Stiles. “You should know by now that she knows all of the things. It comes with the crown.” 

Derek looked… good. Fucking edible, actually. It was as if he’d made sure he was a little sweaty, just wearing one of those stupid wifebeaters (and Stiles really hated that word) that stretched over that solid chest. He was grinning at his sister, and moving to Stiles’ side without a second thought. As if that was where he was supposed to be. 

He’d never done that in private before. Not in front of Laura. 

“It’s made of secrets,” Stiles whispered to himself, knowing that he was the only one who got the joke. “That’s why the crown is so big. And so heavy.” 

There was an arm around his waist, and Stiles was so fucking tempted to just let it stay there, because it felt nice. Warm and secure and safe - and Stiles had serious trouble feeling safe anywhere at the moment. Not when his safe haven had been invaded. 

“Honestly, Stiles,” Laura was going to try to have the last word again. “It’s no use lying to me. Or to Derek. He can tell you’re putting him off, you know.” 

God fucking  _ damn _ it, Laura. Of course that was her exit line, of course she left without saying another word, leaving Stiles to deal with his stupidly gorgeous husband who’d been far too patient with Stiles’ ridiculous requirements for extra check-ups and supervised exercise just so he could be sure that Derek wasn’t just going to fall over in the middle of… anything. But mostly sex, because apparently they were both horny, impatient idiots. 

“Laura is right,” Derek dared to speak up. “I can tell you’re just putting me off.” 

Stiles was completely unsurprised by that, but that did not mean that he was going to stop stalling now. In fact, he might have to start stalling even more now, because the fact that Derek was actually aware of it was making him even less inclined to let him win. Even though it had never really been about letting Derek win. It was now, though, just a little. 

“What did the doctors say?” Stiles was just going to ignore all of that. 

“The same thing they said the last three times,” Derek was at least willing to appease him. “I am in perfect health, and ready for whatever we want to do together.” 

Perfect health. That was hard to believe, when it had only been four days, and Stiles still had trouble sleeping at night because he’d spent the first few nights after the attack blearily blinking at his husband unconscious in a hospital bed, and then the next few days trying to keep the both of them from falling headfirst back into old patterns, building pillow walls and thinking of ways to fend Derek off until he was ready. Oh yeah, and dreaming of the Duke having risen from the grave, half-burnt and with bright red eyes, coming to finish the job. 

And this time Stiles didn’t have any wolfsbane or alcohol or fire. He just had his fragile self, and Derek once again bleeding out in his arms because Stiles hadn’t done enough to get to him before Duke Peter had gotten his claws into him. Quite literally so. 

“Those exact words?” Stiles was not going to waste this opportunity to be a little shit. 

“Yes,” Derek was rolling his eyes again, impossibly fond for some reason. “The official royal doctors told me that I was perfectly fit and healthy and capable of fucking you until you forget your own name. They told me my stamina was just as good as it was before, and you know exactly how good it was before, don’t you Stiles?” 

That was just blatantly unfair, and Derek probably knew that. He knew he wasn’t playing fair when he went from wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist to slowly caging him in against the wall, arms on either side of Stiles’ head. It left him with no place to go except for closer to Derek, and it was everything he wanted and was sure he shouldn’t be allowed to have right now. And when Derek gently and slowly leaned in to start scenting Stiles’ neck… He was done for. 

“Don’t,” Stiles knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold back for much longer. 

“If you actually didn’t want to I would have stopped by now,” Derek was serious for a whole ten seconds before turning back to flirtation. “But you do. I can smell how much you want me, how much you’ve missed this. So when you’re ready to stop being scared, I’ll be here.” 

Of course that asshole knew exactly how badly Stiles wanted to say yes to him, and of course he was going to continue torturing Stiles until he at least admitted to that. So Derek was goading him, because he’d quickly learned that was the best way to get Stiles to do something. To dare him not to do something was the easiest way to make him do that very thing. 

“I’m not scared,” Stiles huffed, because fuck his husband. 

Or, well, don’t fuck his husband. That was the problem - or wasn’t it? 

“Prove it,” Derek went for the oldest trick in the book. 

And Stiles fell for it, because he could never resist a dare like that. Not from Derek. 

So he pulled Derek in by his waist, allowing himself to climb his husband like a damn tree, wrapping his legs around his waist and holding on tight. Because that was what he actually wanted to do, and if Derek was so determined to prove his strength was back to normal, Stiles was going to put him through his paces. Stiles had been worried he was never going to have this again, and Derek was going to give him everything he’d been missing. 

Oh, so maybe this scene was a bit like a Regency romance novel again, but that was fine, as long as Derek actually fucking did something about Stiles clinging to him like a strumpet. 

“Enough proof?” Stiles was still waiting, and he was determined not to be the first to cave. 

“Well,” Derek pretended to still have doubts. 

Stiles rolled his hips against Derek’s, because he knew that Derek was already interested in the proceedings, so to say. That finally got him the response he wanted, a soft growl and Derek’s tongue on his clavicle, teasing and tormenting him until he’d made another hickey. 

“I’ve been walking around markless,” Stiles was just going to keep baiting him now, just to make sure that he wasn’t the only one losing this little game. “I didn’t even smell like you at all. People might get ideas, Derek. I’m sure you wouldn’t want them to get any ideas.” 

Baiting an already impatient werewolf? A terrible idea for most people. But for Stiles? Best fucking idea he’d ever had, because Derek immediately started on another mark, making sure that he left his scent all over Stiles’ neck, especially in the place where he’d initially put his teeth during their mating ceremony. Fuck, that was almost sentimental of him. 

“I’ll give you ideas,” Derek growled. 

Apparently Derek thought that was enough warning, because he ripped Stiles’ shirt to shreds with his claws. Stiles was pretty damn sure that the only reason he didn’t immediately start on the pants as well was because Stiles was wrapped around him so tightly that he was going to have to be a bit more careful with the jeans. Though honestly, Stiles didn’t mind the destruction of his clothes right about now. Hell, he was actively encouraging it. 

“Is that all the ideas you have?” Stiles was ready to do some more baiting. 

When that ended in Stiles’ jeans and underwear in pieces on the floor, Stiles was finally on his way to satisfied. Even though they didn’t even manage to make it to the bed that first time, because Derek clearly had something to prove about wall sex and his strength. 

And yeah, he managed to prove that there was nothing wrong with him. Nothing at all. 


	8. Pride & Sensibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are supposed to get back to normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting real close to that end - almost 7k of epilogue coming up on the 31st.

For once, Stiles didn’t mind staying inside the apartments together. Not just because of the sex, but because he wasn’t sure just how the world had responded to the attack on Derek. Because he didn’t know if it was finished now, with Peter dead and Deucalion dealt with somehow - was that it, was that all of it? Were things going back to normal now? 

“There’s an event in a few days,” Derek mentioned that morning, while they were still naked and panting. “Not anything too formal. I think you’d like it.” 

Well, maybe it was just Stiles who was panting, because Derek’s stamina was superhuman and Stiles was still working on being able to keep up with him. Apparently he had the rest of their lives to figure that out, so at least there was that. He had time. 

But, event? An event that Stiles was going to be allowed to go to? An event that took place outside of the palace? With Stiles in attendance? How? Why? How?

Three excellent questions. Or well, more than three. 

“We’re allowed to go outside now?” Stiles pretended not to freak out internally. 

Or maybe not just internally, because Derek looked at him with that almost fond exasperation that had been driving Stiles particularly fucking crazy lately. It was just so annoying when Derek looked at him like he gave a damn, because it made Stiles worry that his stupid feelings were written all over his face. Because he didn’t hate Derek anymore, not at all. In fact, he was pretty sure he actually liked the idiot these days. He didn’t even mind the marriage much anymore. 

Sure, it sucked that he wasn’t going to get to live happily ever after with a mysterious true love, but Stiles thought he might be able to stand growing old with a friend he got to sleep with. 

“Of course we are,” Derek said as if it were actually normal. 

“What the hell changed?” Stiles wanted to know. 

Shouldn’t Derek be more worried than ever after finding out that his own uncle desperately wanted Stiles dead? And Derek too, and maybe Laura - but mostly Stiles. Shouldn’t almost dying be a very good reason for Derek wanting to stay inside the palace for the rest of their lives? Not that Stiles would have accepted that - fuck no - but he had been pretty damn sure that he was going to have to convince Derek using sexual favors of some kind. And he’d almost been looking forward to that. It made him feel a little sexy. 

“Well,” Derek was almost hesitant about it. “We caught the people who were after you.” 

Well, yeah, Duke Peter was all the way dead. Thank the heavens. But Derek made it sound like there was an actual fucking conspiracy, and had been for quite a while. 

“Motherfucking fuck truck,” Stiles knew he wasn’t making sense, but he honestly didn’t fucking care about that. “What? What do you mean, the people who were after me? Me specifically? Was that entire horrid day about me? Have you known about this the whole time? Was that really the reason why I haven’t been allowed out of your sight since we got engaged?”

Okay, so not all of those questions were very intelligent, but he had to work through a lot here, and he was still a little dazed from that thing Derek had done with his tongue and the way he’d put Stiles in a position that should have been uncomfortable if it didn’t feel so good. 

And wait a minute, what was he talking about before the whole sexy flashback thing? 

“Yes,” Derek didn’t even sound sorry about it. 

Of course he didn’t. Because he was convinced he’d done the right thing. 

“You asshole,” Stiles sat up straight and made sure to move away from Derek. “You fucking asshole. You’ve been keeping secrets. This whole time. This whole fucking time.” 

Yes, he was completely aware that he was just stating the obvious now, but that didn’t mean that he was going to stop doing it. Because he was pissed, fucking furious even, that his husband had basically been giving him the princess in the tower treatment for months and months on end. He’d tricked Stiles into following orders, forced him into confinement with only Derek for company - and the occasional pack meetings. 

Just because he hadn’t trusted Stiles. Because he’d thought him weak. 

“I haven’t lied to you,” Derek was trying to get all technical about it. 

“Maybe not technically,” Stiles was willing to give him that much. “But you certainly distracted me often enough, or skirted the truth when I did get close to something. And you basically kept me locked in our rooms because of it. I’m so fucking sick of being kept out of the loop.” 

This was a pattern in this farce of a relationship. Just when Stiles thought that they were making progress, another one of Derek’s many secrets popped up. And yes, some of them made complete sense for someone with his background, and Stiles understood that Derek hadn’t been able to tell him everything right away… But he thought they’d gotten passed this. 

“Stiles,” Derek started. 

“No, you don’t get to talk,” Stiles stopped him immediately. “You keep doing this, Derek. I know this marriage is one giant bed of lies, but I honestly thought that we were past the whole secrets thing by now. I thought you’d actually accepted me as an equal.” 

He really didn’t want to be in the same bed as Derek anymore. Not right now. He wanted distance, and he wanted to not be naked while they had this fight. So he grabbed one of the sheets from the bed and draped himself in it, preferring the toga look over nudity. 

At least for the moment. 

“You are,” Derek sounded oh so sincere. “I have. You are, in so many ways.” 

And wasn’t that just fucking lovely? Sure, he probably wasn’t even lying about that, and he probably actually believed that. But what good was it if he wasn’t going to act on it? What good were words about equality if the buck stopped at symbolic gestures and pretty words? What good was it if Stiles was never going to be  _ treated _ like an actual equal? 

“Just not all of them,” Stiles laughed mockingly. “Because God forbid the fragile little human gets to have an opinion about his own safety. Because you still think I’m weak.” 

It fucking stung. Because yes, his victory over Derek in their play-fight had been luck and Derek holding back because he didn’t want to hurt Stiles - but that didn’t mean that he was weak. It meant that he was always going to be underestimated, and he was always going to use that to his advantage. But he didn’t want to have to do that in front of his stupid husband - he wanted to have a marriage without games and lies and trickery. He wanted to move beyond the arranged lies and into a partnership. An actual partnership. Between equals. 

For a while there, he’d thought Derek felt the same way. 

“You’re always going to be weaker than me,” Derek didn’t dare look at him as he said that. “At least physically. That’s just how things are. You’re determined to stay human, and I’d never want that to change if you didn’t want it to. But that does mean you don’t heal like I do.”

That was nice, the cold hard facts of his weaknesses on display. But Derek still wasn’t getting his actual point here. So maybe Stiles wouldn’t have been able to defend himself against a pack of rabid werewolves out for his blood or whatever. That didn’t mean that Derek had to keep him hidden away from the world, only allowed to come out when he’d deemed it safe. It didn’t mean he had to be kept in the dark like an ignorant  _ child _ . 

“That’s not the point, asshole,” Stiles was not even trying for maturity here. “The point is that you apparently knew that a fuckton of evil werewolves were out for my blood, and instead of talking to me about it like a fucking grown-up, you locked me in a metaphorical tower like I was an actual damsel in distress. I can handle distress, dipshit.” 

Maybe he was acting a bit like a child now. Oh well, he was only nineteen. 

The use of words wasn’t all that mature, but he managed to get his point across anyway. He could save the pretty verbiage for the random event that they were apparently going to attend together soon. Because Stiles was suddenly good enough to be seen in public. 

Was it a reward for saving Derek’s ass? Had he proved that he wasn’t going to embarrass the royal family by his existence? Not any more than he already had, anyway. 

“I was supposed to fix it for you,” Derek sighed heavily. “That’s what a wolf is supposed to do for their mate. I’m supposed to protect you from the dangers of this kingdom.”

Well that was just ridiculously stupid. It was a difference in culture that reeked of fucked up chivalry and old school sexism, only in more of a speciesist way. The strong partner had to protect the weak partner from harm, like they were cavemen and Stiles was the weak creature being forced to tend to the fire inside because he was too weak to be allowed outside with his strong husband. It was old-fashioned and just completely fucking wrong. 

And also: still not the fucking point. When was Derek going to listen to him already? 

“Keeping secrets is not protecting me,” Stiles raised his hands to the heavens. 

“You were safer not knowing,” Derek sounded far too sure of himself for a liar. 

How, though? How was he safer not knowing about a threat that had been made against him? How did not knowing about the bad stuff make him more able to protect himself? It didn’t. 

“I didn’t even know I was in danger,” Stiles just had to refute that argument. “How could that possibly make me safer? I could have tried to run, could have done a whole bunch of stuff, because you were a tyrannical asshole who wouldn’t let me out of his sight. You even listened in on my showers! You locked me into our rooms! You made me your prisoner.”

Jesus, he was going to have to grow out his hair some more if Derek insisted on casting him in the role of Rapunzel. Because his current look was not going to allow him to escape his metaphorical tower - even though Derek insisted that it was time to open the door. 

“I did what I had to do to keep you safe,” Derek actually believed that. 

“Fucking bullshit,” Stiles found himself raising his voice. “You could have kept me safe by making me aware of the threat, so that we could decide together how to react accordingly. You could have treated me like an adult instead of a wayward child.” 

If Derek had bothered to talk to him about any of this, maybe they could have been partners sooner. Maybe they could have avoided at least some of the many arguments they’d had about Stiles being forced to stay in the apartments all the damn time. Maybe they would have been able to figure out how to be friends instead of enemies. Even though they’d mostly moved past it now, they’d gone from enemies to allies to lovers. They’d somehow skipped friends. 

Because friends actually trusted each other. Friends told each other things. 

“But then you’d know I was a failure,” Derek turned away from him. 

“You didn’t trust me,” Stiles got to the core of the issue. “Part of you still doesn’t. And I get it, I really do. After what happened…. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, and that doesn’t mean it’s fair to me in any way. You haven’t been fair to me, not at all.” 

Look, Derek needed a fuckton of therapy, clearly. He had major trust issues, and that probably was not going to get any better after his uncle betrayed the family. Just because he’d finally figured out that Stiles was somewhat trustworthy, didn’t mean that the problem had disappeared completely. It just meant that Stiles was now part of that very small inner circle of people trusted by Derek, and the rest of the world was still very much on the outside of things. 

Derek had shifted - he hadn’t allowed himself to grow and learn, not really. He’d made Stiles the only exception instead of the rule. He still made fucking Kate the rule he lived by - when she should have been the outlier. She hadn’t been, in Derek’s experience, but she should have been. She should have been the only person who’d ever dared to betray him. 

“You didn’t trust me either,” Derek had to keep arguing, even though he was sounding more and more defeated. “You openly hated me - you wouldn’t have listened to me if I had told you.” 

So Derek had a point about that. He did. It just didn’t absolve him, because he hadn’t even tried it, not once. It was part truth and part shitty excuse, and it didn’t fix anything. Not that there was a quick fix for a situation like this one. There was no bandaid that would hold this together. 

Band-aids were a temporary solution anyway. At some point healing had to take over. 

“Well I guess we’ll never know,” Stiles was just… tired. 

He sat back down on the bed, wrapped in his sheet toga, and turned his back to Derek - because Derek was naked still, and didn’t have the decency to hide himself with a sheet, used as he was to being naked around people (exhibitionists, the lot of them). Because Derek was naked and vulnerable, and Stiles couldn’t look at him like that and continue to be angry with him. And he really needed to be angry for a little while longer. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek had completely deflated now. 

“Better,” Stiles was patronizing about it on purpose. 

It was more than he would have gotten before. It was a hell of a lot more than he usually got from the people who forgot that Stiles was a person with likes and dislikes (which happened a lot when Secret Service protocol was concerned). It was a lot more fault than Derek had ever admitted to him before. It was an actual apology instead of just more excuses and reasons why he’d done what he did. It was owning up to the mistakes he’d made. 

It was at least a step in the right direction. 

“I should have trusted you,” Derek continued, apparently trying not just to talk the talk. “You deserved better. I apologize that my actions hurt you. I’ll try to do better.” 

And that was definitely a whole lot more than he’d ever thought he’d get. It wasn’t like a Prince would have had to apologize often - not for any personal failings, anyway. Perhaps on behalf of his country, or his sister, for their absence at some important event. Or even on behalf of Stiles, apologizing for Stiles’ lack of knowledge about their people and culture and important rituals. Derek didn’t usually have to apologize for the things he’d done. 

Because a Prince was never wrong, was he? 

“Much better,” Stiles was still not looking in his direction. 

He didn’t know what he was waiting for. He just knew that he was waiting for something, for something that was going to fix this. He was waiting for something more than just nice words and empty gestures - he was waiting for a future situation in which Derek acted on this apology and consulted Stiles for once. He wasn’t ready to make nice yet. 

“But you’re still not going to forgive me,” Derek was astute enough to point that out. 

“Can you blame me?” Stiles’ voice was sharp. 

If Derek was going to blame him for this, if he was going to be an asshole about Stiles choosing to allow himself to be angry about this, then he wasn’t the man Stiles thought he was. And that man? That was quite a guy, someone Stiles had really liked until just now. 

Well, maybe not just until Derek revealed yet another secret. 

“No,” Derek apparently wasn’t going to pout his way to forgiveness. “Do you want me to give you space for a while? I can go talk to Laura. I can ask Erica to come over?” 

See, that was the kind of response he’d been expecting, the kind of response he’d kind of been hoping for. Because he did want some space, and instead of him having to whine and plead and beg to get Derek to leave him the fuck alone for just a second, Derek was the one who suggested it this time. Derek had finally figured out at least some of the shit he’d screwed up before, and he seemed kind of determined to do better this time around. 

It was a lot, but only in the best way. In the way that made Stiles worry about this being so much more than he’d bargained for. It was more than he wanted or expected or needed. 

“That would be nice,” Stiles decided. 

He turned his back to Derek, still in the beginnings of a promising blanket burrito. He heard rustling of sheets and clothes and assumed that Derek was actually going to bother getting dressed before he went to hang out with his sister. Not that clothing was optional in the palace, it was just that Stiles knew far too much about Derek’s aversion against clothes, and he knew that Derek would have preferred roaming around shirtless, even in the royal palace. Stiles was pretty sure that the staff found it slightly perplexing and extremely delightful. 

They were all werewolves, and not that bothered about nudity, but still surprisingly uptight in their royal protocol. Stiles didn’t have a hope of making sense of it all just yet. 

“I’ll leave you be,” Derek nodded. 

Stiles was on the edge of the bed, just waiting to see if Derek was actually going to leave. It wasn’t that he was testing his husband - not really, not purposefully - but it was more that he was kind of curious if Derek would let himself leave. Because he was still worried, maybe, or that he wanted to be able to reach for Stiles easily. Because he wasn’t used to it and Derek still didn’t really trust people to keep Stiles safe - but maybe he trusted Stiles to do an okay job. 

“Derek?” Stiles asked just before he stepped outside of their rooms. 

“Yes?” Derek responded, outwardly pleased at Stiles’ reluctance to let him leave. 

Sometimes that idiot was kind of adorable. It was an embarrassing thought that he was not going to acknowledge out loud, but Stiles almost grinned at the sight, before reminding himself that he was angry and he had every right to be. So he tried for a more blank look, tried not to show Derek that while he wasn’t forgiven yet, Stiles was going to get there a lot more quickly than he’d been expecting. He tried not to reveal that he was going to compromise. 

Because maybe, just maybe, he kind of understood that Derek took on far too much responsibility and that he considered Stiles’ safety one of those responsibilities. That he considered it his job to keep Stiles safe at all times, even though they could have just found a bodyguard of some kind. Well, they could have if Derek hadn’t had massive trust issues. 

Well, not so much  _ had _ . Because Derek probably wouldn’t get over that. 

Stiles predicted many fights about that very problem in the future. Just not yet. 

“I’ll go with you to that event,” Stiles almost managed a grin. “If you go now.” 

Derek ducked his head - he did that stupid chin dip that Stiles was pretty sure that meant that Derek would be down for sex right about now. Only this was Derek being coy about it in a way that had Stiles thinking more of making love than about having sex. 

“I’m going,” Derek was smiling as he closed the door behind him. 

And that would just be ridiculous. 

* * *

Would it be terrible if Stiles felt like a worried mother hen the whole time?

“Where are you going?” Stiles hissed at his husband. “What are you doing?” 

Was this what Derek felt like all the time? Was this the kind of worry that had caused Derek to basically lock Stiles into their apartments for days and weeks and months on end? Because he was kind of starting to relate to that feeling right about now. 

Were there always going to be this many people present at this event? Stiles had not been expecting this kind of turn-out for an event focused on werewolf-human relations. Sure, it was probably supposed to be a nice thing, but right now he was just worried about this being the second wave of the attack started by Duke Peter and Deucalion and their people. Because even though they’d cut off the metaphorical (and in Deucalion’s case, the literal) head of the snake, that didn’t mean that the anti-human sentiment was completely gone. 

And, well… If people were going to attack, they’d attack Derek, seeing him as the reason why everything had gone so very wrong in Triskele. Because he just had to marry a human, and he just had to let that human run roughshod - he even dared not to turn Stiles after the wedding. 

All of these crimes made Derek one of the major enemies of the movement. 

“You’re being weird,” Derek muttered, a fake grin on his face for their audience. 

“You’re being evasive,” Stiles whispered in return. “Why are there no guards?” 

Sure, there were some guards around somewhere, but not nearly enough for Stiles’ taste - because he’d found out just how fast and strong werewolves could be (and no, for once that wasn’t related to how fast and strong Derek was in bed). Someone could shoot Derek multiple times before the guards could even get to them, and what the hell was wrong with him?

Why was he worrying about  _ Derek _ ? Wasn’t he supposed to worry about his own safety? According to Derek, he’d been another major target. And according to his own nightly ponderings (the insomnia was real), he’d been lucky to get out unharmed last time. Some minor scratches and scrapes didn’t really count, not in comparison to what Derek had gone through - the nearly dying and all that. Okay, so maybe it made sense that he’d worry about Derek. 

But Derek could never know. Never. 

“Stiles, are you  _ scared _ ?” Derek stopped in his tracks. 

“Of course not,” Stiles vehemently denied it, even though he knew that Derek was going to call him out on the lie within just a few seconds. “It’s just that there are a lot of people here, and we didn’t catch all of Deucalion’s people, and this would be the perfect event for them to…” 

If only werewolves weren’t so good at picking up on lies. He just wanted to be able to tell stupid white lies like this from time to time, and not be called out on it as soon as he finished his sentence. Because being vulnerable sucked balls, and not in the good way. 

“We can leave,” Derek offered. 

“No, that would be letting them win,” Stiles totally wasn’t stubborn or anything. “Just, don’t do anything stupidly heroic, like last time. I can’t be at your bedside for 2 more days.” 

Was Derek laughing at him? Stiles just saw a flash of something that could have been a grin, but he was pretty sure that Derek had been smiling or grinning or smirking for a bit there. And clearly that meant that Derek was laughing at him for some reason, when really, he hadn’t said anything particularly funny. Derek would know it when Stiles was being funny on purpose, because his sense of humor was surprisingly not completely awful these days. 

Or ever, because Stiles had just been refusing to admit it before. 

“Are you worried about me?” Derek was not going to let this go. 

“Why would I be?” Stiles went with the kind of denial wolves couldn’t detect as a lie. 

It was just easier to be sarcastic and flippant, especially when nothing he said was actually a lie - it was just a completely genuine question. Well, okay, no, maybe it wasn’t completely genuine, but it was something he totally would have said before. It was something that Derek would willfully misunderstand as Stiles being an asshole to him yet again. 

Because Stiles didn’t care about Derek at all, nope. Not at all. 

Yes, he was a terrible liar, even to himself. 

“Stubborn mode engaged,” Derek was almost smiling again, that dick. 

“Can you just not be a self-sacrificing idiot today?” Stiles tried a fake smile in return. 

That should not have been a particularly difficult question, but Derek was apparently determined to make it into a thing. Because while Stiles totally knew that it was difficult for Derek to value his own safety over that of others (yeah, that wasn’t all that funny when he thought about it for longer than a hot second), Derek wasn’t going to be openly vulnerable about it. So instead he was just trying to mess with Stiles a bit, because he thought that was fun. 

When really, it was way more fun the other way around. 

“That’s going to be hard,” Derek actually pretended to ponder the issue. 

Stiles was sorely tempted to shove at him or to pinch him, or even to flip him off, but that would ruin the whole perfect couple thing that they had going on now. And surprisingly, that didn’t require nearly as much acting as it used to. Even though Stiles technically hadn’t formally forgiven Derek for the whole ‘lying about people wanting to kill him’ thing. 

He would eventually, but he wasn’t going to do it until after Derek had gone a week without fucking up. So far he’d made it… well, since their conversation. So, not a week yet. 

“You’re a terrible husband,” Stiles huffed. 

“Lie,” Derek was extra quick to call him out on that one. “Thanks, dear.” 

Derek reached for his hand then, probably to make them look even more like that perfect couple that all of Triskele wanted to see. According to Erica they had quite the following online - both in the US and in Triskele - and people were starved for some happy content. Apparently the whole ‘trying to save each other’s lives’ thing wasn’t enough of a fluff piece. 

“Have you even looked at what’s happening?” Derek was not letting this go. 

“I was too busy looking at you,” Stiles batted his eyelashes. “You’re so dreamy.” 

He was getting pretty good at the outrageous attempts at flirting for the public - it was actually getting kind of fun, because he’d basically turned it into a game. Derek was clearly trying to outdo him still, so Stiles had made it into a game that he was determined to win. 

It was a fine line to walk between flirting and being far too open about any developing feelings. 

“Not a lie,” Derek was far too intrigued by that. 

And that was bad. Because Stiles’ feelings versus flirting balancing act depended on Derek not figuring out that there was a balancing act. He was supposed to just stick with the harmless fake flirting and the occasional sex joke if they were out of earshot from any dignitaries. Because, well, he may not have formally forgiven Derek, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to have a ton of newly married sex. Because they’d gotten so very good at it. 

“Tell me what’s happening, then,” Stiles had to distract Derek, and he had to do it quickly. 

“As you wish,” Derek smiled at him, leaning in to kiss his hand. 

Did Derek know what he was saying? Did he? Did he know that he was tormenting Stiles with a reference he probably didn’t even understand that he was making?

“Gross,” Laura walked by them just for that drive-by comment, Stiles was sure of it. 

“Ignore her,” Derek rolled his eyes. “I know I do.” 

Actually, Stiles didn’t want Laura to walk away, because she was being the perfect distraction while he caught his breath and tried not to picture Derek wearing all-black pirate garb and fencing with a beautiful sword. He also tried really hard not to reference the movie some more, because the odds of Derek knowing what he was talking about were… inconceivable. 

“You love me,” Laura said far too loudly, far too proudly.

Stiles really, really did. He’d never had a sister before, and while the meddling was occasionally a bit of a pain, he’d really come to appreciate getting to know the woman behind the public image. He’d really come to like his sister-in-law Laura, rather than her Royal Highness Laura Natalia Hale of Triskele. Because she was funny, and making fun of Derek was one of her favorite pastimes - and she understood what it was like to sit at Derek’s bedside and wait impatiently for him to open those ridiculous eyes of his. 

“Maybe a little,” Derek whispered, just for Stiles to hear. “So, this is our newly established charity, a collaboration between Laura and your father.” 

Those two made a surprisingly terrifying and effective team, and since the wedding, more and more nations had begun to come forward in the hopes of establishing their own relations with Triskele. Laura joked that she was going to ask all of them to send their best candidate for marriage, so that she would finally have that werewolf season of the Bachelorette that she’d been dreaming of (Derek had called her out on that lie immediately - the dreaming of it, not the sending candidates for marriage thing. That had been surprisingly real). 

“Now, you can’t tell at first sight,” Derek continued, still leaning in close. “And that’s kind of the point, even though the wolves can tell, if they pay attention. They can tell which children are human, and which are wolves. The kids? They don’t know, and we don’t tell them.” 

Stiles clung to Derek’s hand, because he was an idiot who apparently needed a safety net and Derek’s hands (or his arms) were the best kind of safety net he’d found. He stood with his husband as he saw groups of children playing together, without any regard for which child had grown up in which kingdom, or which child was born into which species. 

They were just kids. Playing in the wide-open field, and getting their clothes dirty making sandcastles, and giggling and squealing and running too fast and worrying their parents by falling down from time to time. Because that was what children were supposed to do. 

Sure, if Stiles looked really closely, he saw that a few of the kids had some trouble containing their shift, and that some others were not as quick to get up after a fall - but that didn’t matter. 

“That’s….” Stiles was having some trouble coming up with the right words. 

“That’s the point of the charity,” Derek continued, giving Stiles more time to come up with something eloquent to say. “Fostering human-werewolf relations.” 

Well, that helped. That he could say something about. Because Derek had made it too easy. 

“Not our kind of relations,” Stiles nudged Derek. 

“Of course you’d go there,” Derek sighed in a mocking fashion. “Maybe when they’re older.” 

Surely they were not the first and only werewolf-human (or human-werewolf) marriage. Surely there were others like them, and hopefully those others chose to be involved with each other instead of being forced into a marriage for appearance’s sake. But they were real, and they were probably attending this event - because Derek would have made that happen. 

He was kind of obvious in that way. Not that Stiles minded. 

“Lovebirds,” Erica walked towards them with a far too impish grin on her face. “I love that you have a solid definition of human-werewolf relations, and I encourage you to keep going, but there are children present. And I have some people who’d like to meet with you, if that’s okay.” 

Yeah, they were probably going to meet some lovely people who were going to be very clear that they had no issues with human-werewolf relations (and yes, he was still mentally sniggering at the word relations every single time, because he was nineteen and immature as fuck). And Stiles was going to have to smile at them and pretend to be some kind of role model, when he was honestly just an idiot kid who’d gotten roped into it by his Dad. 

Stiles Stilinski, the role model. Scott was never going to stop laughing at this - when they saw each other next. They’d texted a few times since the attack, but it had been… Weird. 

“You’ll like this,” Derek promised. 

Ugh, Stiles probably would, too, because Derek had gotten pretty good at figuring out all of Stiles’ likes and dislikes. It was kind of annoying, because Derek wasn’t nearly as easy to read, and sometimes Stiles just wanted to make  _ him _ feel better instead of dealing with more of Derek’s so-called groveling for his mistakes. But he’d figure it out - he liked a challenge. 

“And if I don’t?” Stiles was absolutely propositioning his husband now. 

“Down boy,” Erica patted his head, even though she was shorter and had to reach for it. 

While she was distracted by teasing Stiles, Derek made a rather universal gesture to signify oral sex. Which was definitely a damn good bargain, so Stiles was going to go along with whatever Derek and Erica had managed to cook up with these mysterious guests. 

“Mason, Corey,” Erica motioned at a couple of teenagers. “Meet the only idiots more horny for each other than you are: Prince Derek and Prince Mieczyslaw. Sorry, prince Stiles.” 

Every single time. Sure, technically Stiles was Prince Mieczyslaw, but no one referred to him by that name unless they absolutely had to - and somehow, Erica always managed to find a reason that allowed her to absolutely have to. Just to screw with him, because she’d become far too good of a friend not to mess with him. His Catwoman was every bit like her namesake. 

“So unprofessional,” Derek sighed heavily. 

“You should really fire me,” Erica grinned far too smugly. “Oh, wait, you can’t.” 

Honestly, Stiles had no idea what the kids were thinking of them right about now, but he was not going to put a stop to the banter. Sure, it was probably really against all the royal etiquette stuff, but it was good for the kids to see that the royals were just people too. It was never a bad thing to humanize the royal wolves and their pack in front of their people (or not their people, because Stiles was willing to bet that one of these boys was now or had been born a human). Even if the humanizing came with lots of sex jokes and embarrassing memories. 

“Because we never hired you,” Derek responded. 

“Because you were an idiot imprinting on a sick teenager in a hospital,” Erica looked nothing like that sick teenage girl now. “So you just had to have me and my Boyd in your pack. And now you’re never getting rid of me. Which means I get to embarrass you as much as I want.” 

Imprinting? Of course Erica used that word, because she was still bitter about those terrible books and what they’d done to the werewolf characters (that and the racism, she had all the thoughts on the racism in the books). And she was going to make damn sure that everyone knew that she had thoughts - even though Derek and Stiles had heard all the rants already. 

Poor kids, being stuck in the middle of this verbal sparring match. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Stiles decided to address the flabbergasted teens.

The young boys were high school-aged, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, and holding hands, just like Stiles and Derek. They both looked pretty nervous, and for a second Stiles wondered why they would be, until he realized that to these kids they were probably kind of a big fucking deal. And not just because they were actually royalty, but also because they were this mythic example of a perfect human-werewolf relationship (wow, what a lie). 

“Your royal highness,” the dark-skinned boy managed a halfway convincing bow.

He nudged his boyfriend (?) into doing the same. It looked a little more awkward on him, but they both passed the non-existent test. They were certainly a lot more graceful about it than Stiles had been when he’d first been forced to try it. 

It had taken a lot of practice for him to get decent at it, and now he hardly even had to use it anymore because people bowed to him now. Wasn’t that just… ironic. 

“No need to bow,” Stiles motioned for them to just look up again. “We’re just normal… Well, okay, I’m just normal, Der-Bear here has never been a normal person a day in his life. But please don’t think that we’re intimidating. I’m really not. Derek, however.” 

Erica was laughing, even Stiles could tell that because she was that obvious about it. He just wasn’t sure what exactly she was laughing at. Was it the idea of Stiles being normal? Was it the idea of Derek being even remotely intimidating? Who could tell, really? Erica might have been laughing at something completely different she’d managed to overhear. 

“Nice to meet you,” Derek sighed far too fondly at Stiles’ behavior. “What are your names?” 

That was a little formal, a little press-ready, but Stiles was willing to roll with it - because it was awkward to pretend like they were old friends just because he suspected that they were in similar situations. The entire forced meet-up was awkward, but these kids looked so very happy underneath the nervousness that Stiles suspected this moment was making their day, or possibly their week or month. He suspected this meant a lot to them, and that meant that he was more than willing to indulge them, and deal with the inherent awkwardness. 

“I’m Corey,” the light-skinned boy could barely look them in the eye. “That’s Mason.” 

Corey was clearly the shy one - not a personality trait that Stiles could relate to at all, but he was going to do his best not to make it worse. Sure, he was probably still going to put his foot in his mouth at least three times, but that was still a lot less than the dozen times it would happen if he wasn’t trying to be nice. 

Derek could deal with the awkward comments Stiles was saving up later - he’d gotten good at it. 

“Very nice to meet you both,” Stiles put on his most charming grin, trying to make them feel more at ease. “You make a cute couple. How did you two find each other?” 

Yes, still very awkward. But he found that if he directed his questions at Mason, Corey felt a bit more comfortable. Just like Derek seemed to feel more comfortable having Stiles half wrapped around him while they had their conversation. Stiles was starting to feel a bit like a safety blanket of some kind, but he suspected that Derek was also far too aware of how special this moment was for the kid. He was far too self-conscious about all the ways he could ruin it - because Derek suffered under the ridiculous misconception that he couldn’t talk to people. 

That was mostly wrong. Derek couldn’t talk to people he actively disliked without making his feelings known (Stiles had certainly experienced a whole lot of that in the early days of their engagement), but he knew enough about etiquette not to fuck up with nice people. And also, he wasn’t nearly as much of an awkward idiot as he thought he was. 

No, Stiles wasn’t reading his mind. He just knew his husband well. 

“My best friend got turned into a werewolf,” Mason started to explain. “Not particularly on purpose. No one had been expecting it, but Liam would have fallen to his death if the wolf hadn’t done what he did. And suddenly we were both in the thick of it.” 

Suddenly Stiles was wondering what the hell he would have done if that had happened to his best friend. What would he have done if Scott had gotten bitten? Especially at that age, when the wolf appeared to be much harder to control. Sure, Scott’s asthma would have cleared right up, but Stiles couldn’t imagine it going over well with the Argent family. 

Oh God, he didn’t even want to imagine the awkwardness of that family dinner. 

“That sounds like one hell of a friendship,” Stiles tried too hard not to think of Scott. 

“I did the best I could,” Mason was particularly modest about it too. “Stuff just kind of kept happening around me, and I figured that I might as well make sure I could help.” 

Now that Stiles totally understood. He understood the feeling of powerlessness, of needing to do something that would help - hell, it was a big part of the reason why he’d gone along with the arranged marriage fairly easily (or easily enough for Stiles). Because he knew how powerless his Dad felt to repair the relationship with Triskele, and he knew what the risks had been for Laura and Derek - particularly for Derek - if people had found out that the moment on the East Room floor had been anything other than a hormonal surge. 

Derek could have been in serious trouble for it. 

“I wasn’t turned by a werewolf,” Corey suddenly spoke up. “I probably should have said something, and I didn’t mean to trick you, but I’m not a werewolf.” 

Corey wasn’t saying that he was human, though. Because he would not have phrased it this way if he had been human - he wouldn’t have emphasized the word ‘werewolf’ nearly as much if he had been in a human-human relationship. Mason had human written all over him, according to Stiles, even though he knew that appearances could be deceiving. 

Still, he’d bet on Corey being the non-human partner. 

“You were turned by…,” Stiles caught the weird emphasis. 

“I was an experiment,” Corey looked down at the ground again, as if he could make himself invisible if he just tried hard enough. “I almost died, and they fixed me. But they made me something other than human. They made me a Chimaera.” 

Wow, this was so far outside of his comfort zone that Stiles was lost for words for a moment there. Because there was not a lot of information about Chimaera’s - or at least, there hadn’t been back home in the US. Stiles hadn’t exactly spent any time researching Chimaera’s, because he’d been far too busy figuring out how the fuck werewolves worked. Something about priorities and things that he was actually going to experience. 

Clearly Derek knew more about it, though. 

“That must have been traumatizing,” Derek nodded emphatically. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, you know. Please don’t feel obligated just because we’re here.” 

That was a good response. Stiles was almost proud of the dork - okay, maybe a little. 

But then he felt a tugging on his arm, and before he knew it he was halfway across the clearing for some reason. Well, he knew the reason. It was Catwoman. 

“Just let Der-Bear handle this one,” Erica dragged him off. 

“Erica,” Stiles tried to catch at least a glimpse of Derek. 

He hadn’t wanted to lose track of his husband - and now he didn’t even have a line of sight anymore, even though he was pretty sure that Erica was still able to hear exactly what Derek was saying to those kids. Because werewolf hearing had that kind of range, and the scent trail was even easier for them to track - because they were Pack. Pack knew where to find each other at all times, no matter how far away they got. Fucking werewolf magic. 

“Separation anxiety?” Erica dragged them into a private area. “You’ve never been that kind of clingy before. Sure, you always try to get your hands all over him whenever you get the chance, but this is just a whole new level. It’s impressively creepy of you, Edward Cullen.” 

And why wouldn’t he want to get his hands all over Derek? Derek was very touchable - to Stiles, at least - and Stiles was basically still a newlywed. He didn’t know how much longer that excuse would apply, but he was planning to take as much advantage of it as he could, before he had to start figuring out how to act normal. Before he had to start figuring out how much touching was a normal amount - because he basically wanted to be all over Derek all the damn time. 

It was as if he was the werewolf, trying to leave his claim on Derek. With his scent. 

That wasn’t even close to the creepiness of that fucking vampire, and Erica knew it. 

“Gross,” Stiles huffed at her. 

“Derek can handle himself,” Erica reminded him of the obvious truth. “But you know that already, so I don’t need to remind you. I’m just here for the gossip. How are you doing? Because I don’t think I’ve ever heard the two of you fight, and then you said…” 

Oh, so she had found them a private area so she could check in with him. She really was a good friend to have, his Catwoman. Ever since he’d confided in her about the fight he’d had with Derek (lying a lot less than he’d been expecting to), she’d been available for brief bouts of distraction whenever he needed it. He initially suspected that Derek had put her up to it, but Erica had quickly proved herself to be unequivocally on his side about the whole thing. 

Because she remembered what it was like to be fragile and human. 

“I’m letting him grovel for a bit,” Stiles shrugged. “I don’t like that he kept something so important a secret, even though he was trying to protect me. I’m tempted to make a dog training joke, but I won’t. I mean, I love that idiot, but that doesn’t mean I can just let him get away with everything because of it. There are boundaries still, even with the super protective instincts.” 

Erica nodded, as if she completely understood what Stiles was going for here. She even laughed at the almost dog joke a little - because she wasn’t nearly as sensitive about those as the born wolves were. She was on his side, not that he needed there to be sides. 

“I don’t blame you,” Erica nodded. 

“You don’t?” Stiles asked, without much input of his brain. 

He knew better than that - Erica had told him exactly how stupid she thought the overprotective crap was. She had ranted at Derek, used very colorful vocabulary to explain how much of an idiot Derek had been to think that he could have kept Stiles secluded indefinitely. Sure, she’d initially thought that Derek’s overprotectiveness was due to the newness of it all, and due to the nearness of creepy Duke Peter (because there was no one who didn’t think that guy was a total creep). So when Stiles told her the real reason, she’d threatened to hit Derek over the head with a heavy object to make sure that he got it through his thick skull. 

Stiles wasn’t even slightly tempted to take her up on it. He preferred to do his own damage. With his words. With a lot of words. 

“Please, dumbass,” Erica rolled her eyes. “If Boyd pulled that shit I’d kick his ass.” 

And now Stiles was picturing that confrontation - and putting all of his money on Erica, because she was vicious and confrontational and would absolutely fight dirty. Boyd wouldn’t even try all that hard to win from her, because he didn’t need to be stronger than her all the damn time. He preferred using his brute strength to protect others only. 

“Let me know so I can watch,” Stiles pleaded with her, trying for puppy dog eyes. 

Because he was envisioning the setup right now, with a boxing ring of some kind and Isaac as the ring boy, being bitchy about being in that role and being put in the middle of this when he really didn’t give a fuck about who would win. Isaac would just want to be sassy about it, and Derek was going to roll his eyes and Laura was going to be the not so impartial judge who was all about letting Erica win it. Luckily for her, Boyd probably felt the same way. 

It almost felt like a weird kind of pack bonding to Stiles. 

“Did you like the surprise, though?” Erica just had to know. 

“It’s good,” Stiles took another look at the kids on the playground. “It’s nice to see that things are getting better, that our marriage made things easier for people. It’s nice that Argent didn’t fuck everything up after all, that werewolves and humans get to live together again.” 

Was that the polite answer that he would have given to the press? Absolutely. Because it was far easier than thinking about all of the stupid feelings that popped up when he started thinking about Derek doing all of this for him. Because it was starting to become really fucking obvious that this charity had only gotten the attention it did relatively recently. And also, Stiles had overheard a couple of conversations about how charming it was that Prince Derek was making such an effort to make his husband feel at home in Triskele. 

Wolves were really bad at guessing what a human range of hearing was. 

“And Derek?” Erica wasn’t going to let him get away with a press soundbite. 

“He knows me far too well,” Stiles pretended that wasn’t fucking terrifying. “It’s a nice gesture, and he’s been walking the walk too. I just… Hearing those kids talk about how they met - that could have been me, if my Dad hadn’t been president. It could have been me and Scott. Clearly Scott would make a terrible werewolf, but I’d be an awesome sidekick.” 

Look, Stiles loved Scott, and he always would, because Scott was his best friend and he always would be - but Scott would make a fucking terrible wolf. Because he was adamant about not wanting to be a wolf, even though he knew that it would instantly fix up his asthma. And his reluctance to wolf stuff was going to make him less inclined to learn about control - heck, Scott was probably going to decide on something stupid like making Allison his anchor. 

Even Stiles knew that having just one person as your anchor was a terrible idea. He’d done the research, even though he hadn’t exactly talked about this sort of thing with his mate. 

“I’d still be in your Pack,” Erica nudged him none too gently. 

“Thanks, Catwoman,” Stiles grinned at her. “Now, will you help me with my next mission? I need to fuck with Derek at least a little more before I admit I forgave him already.” 

There was no real plan yet, but he was good at coming up with stupid shit on the fly - even better when he had Erica as his co-conspirator. She lived up to her nickname in every way, and she was not afraid to make a fool of herself in pursuit of hilarity and shenanigans. 

“Sorry Batman, you’re on your own for this one,” Erica kept glancing at something - or someone from the corner of her eye. “My man is here and I haven’t grabbed that ass in hours.” 

Stiles went with a sloppy salute - not very appropriate for the Batman character, but he was rolling with it nonetheless. It was good to see Erica so happy, practically bouncing over to Boyd before just leaping at him, even though he’d probably felt her coming from miles away. Or, at least metaphorically from miles away. Those damn wolves and their super senses. 

Which gave him an idea, or at least the first semblance of an idea. He was going to trick Derek’s super senses and then surprise him. Because he was pretty sure that Derek wasn’t going to throw him to the ground this time - and even if he did put his fangs on Stiles’ neck, everyone was just going to assume that they were play-fighting and/or getting ready to fuck later. And honestly, they wouldn’t even be wrong about that bit. 

So Stiles zig-zagged through the crowds, trying to keep himself out of sight. It was more crowded around Derek, more and more people wanting to talk to him about the charity and its projects, it seemed. It was an excellent distraction, and gave him more than enough time to properly plan his approach - fast, sneaky and inescapable. 

Honestly, he was probably the most surprised when it actually worked, leaving Derek carrying him piggy-back style, Stiles’ breath hot on Derek’s neck. 

“Hey babe,” Stiles acted like this was a very normal position for them. “Done chatting?” 

Okay, it was surprising, but it was really weird how everyone just gaped at them. 

* * *

Stiles was still having some trouble falling asleep - or actually, more like he was having trouble sleeping through the night. He’d always been a bit of a light sleeper, but this was getting fucking ridiculous. Every single time Derek dared to move, he startled awake. 

And sometimes, he even woke when Derek didn’t move. 

Like now, when he woke up seemingly for no reason, nuzzled as he was against Derek’s warm and comfy chest. It had rapidly become his favorite sleeping position, and it had been even better since the attack, because it allowed him to put his head over Derek’s heart and make sure that he kept breathing throughout the night. Stiles could just allow the regular beating to slowly lull him to sleep, in the confidence that he’d wake up if that heartbeat changed. 

That was what had woken him up - Derek was working himself up somehow. Stiles nuzzled a bit more, trying to act asleep still so that Derek didn’t have to admit that he was freaking the fuck out for some reason. Even though it was probably really easy for him to see right through that, seeing as a wolf could always tell when someone’s breathing or heartbeat changed. 

“I can’t believe you,” Derek said, and Stiles tried not to startle at it. 

Because he was comfy and warm and possibly even safe again, and Derek was probably not trying to call him out on anything. So he made sure to keep his breathing as steady as he could, even as Derek’s arms briefly tightened around his body. 

“You saved my life,” Derek continued.

Stiles was pretty sure that Derek believed him to be asleep, because there was no way that Derek was going to attempt a serious conversation with him about this, especially not in the middle of the night. So he was just going to let Derek have his say while he attempted to fall asleep again, and Derek never even had to know that Stiles had heard him. 

He clearly did not want to be heard. 

“Laura told me everything,” Derek apparently had a lot to say, and Stiles found it hard to drift off, even using that rumbling voice as a soother. “She told me about how you made a Molotov Cocktail and threw it right at Peter’s face, and how you ran away to find her to make sure she finished the job. She told me how you’d held me until the doctors came. I don’t remember most of that, I was so out of it. Did I ask you to cut off my arm at one point? I might have dreamed it.” 

Honestly, Stiles was not surprised that Laura had blabbed to Derek about every single detail she could remember of that horrid day. Because Derek was almost as determined about knowing all of the things as Stiles was. And his memories were probably all fucked up because of the wolfsbane poisoning - that and he was actively unconscious for some of the worst stuff. 

Stiles couldn’t blame him for having questions about it, about Duke Peter suddenly being dead when he woke up and Stiles miraculously being in one piece even though he by all rights should have been ripped apart on the Asshole Duke’s claws. Of course Derek would want those questions answered, and it wasn’t like Stiles had been ready to talk about any of it - he’d actively been avoiding having any kind of conversation about it. 

And Laura was weirdly proud of how Stiles had handled things, so she probably made him sound far more heroic than he’d actually been. He’d panicked and gotten lucky - that was honestly all there was to his supposedly heroic rescue. 

“You’re impossible,” Derek sighed heavily as he said that. “You were supposed to be the first one to run away from danger because you’re human and therefore more at risk than any of us. But no, you just had to be stubborn and stick around even though you could have  _ died _ .” 

Well, of course Stiles wasn’t going to run away from danger - Derek should have known him better than that by now. Or was this an initial impression thing? Was this what Derek had thought of Stiles when they’d met? When he announced that he would have been so very happy if he’d in some way managed to get away from Derek - or just get rid of him. Even when he’d hated Derek’s stupid guts, he still would not have run away from danger. Probably. 

But he was sleeping, and he didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to cuddle Derek, and he wanted Derek to continue saying these nice things about him. 

“I don’t like thinking about that,” Derek was still talking, and Stiles was mostly sleeping now. “I don’t like thinking about you not being around anymore. Isn’t that stupid? You hate me - or mostly dislike me, or however you’d describe that. And I want you around. Forever. I don’t want you to go back to your Dad and your stupid friend. I want you with me, always, in my bed, in our apartments, in the palace. In my life. Right next to me, saying stupid things because you’re refusing to read the books just because you know it’ll piss me off.” 

Oh, right, this was clearly a dream. Because real Derek would never have said any of these things - well, maybe some of the frustrating things, because real Derek definitely had a lot to say about that. Real Derek never would have said anything about not liking the idea of a life without Stiles, or about wanting him around all the time. Because real Derek didn’t want that. 

So this was Dream Derek. The nicer Derek. The one who wanted Stiles around. 

“I even like it when you deliberately antagonize me,” Dream Derek was saying, and that was very nice of him. “You get that look in your eye, that determination, and your eyes are even more gold. Like a wolf, a beta wolf. Your eyes are beautiful when you’re angry. And when you’re teasing me, and when you’re happy. Mostly when you’re happy.” 

Aw, that was nice of him, saying that ridiculous stuff about parts of Stiles actually being some kind of beautiful. Real Derek never said anything like that (not even when they were in public, because of course he couldn’t lie about that in front of all the other wolves). Real Derek just said things about how hot this thing was that Stiles was doing, or about how sexy it was that Stiles wanted him so much all the damn time. Because Stiles did want him, all the damn time. 

With his stupid muscles and those gorgeous eyes and the pinpricks of that scruff against his skin just about everywhere, and way Derek touched him as if he actually mattered. The way Derek never made him feel fragile in bed, but instead treated him like an equal. The softness of Derek’s skin, and the hair on his chest that Stiles couldn’t stop playing with, and his strong thighs and his ass that was made to be squeezed, and that gorgeous cock that made Stiles’ mouth water every single time. And the way he made sure it was so, so good for Stiles every single time. The way it got Derek hot that Stiles was hot for it. 

This was such a nice dream. He hadn’t had a dream this good in ages - or ever. 

Dream Derek was the best at these weird compliments. “You’re gorgeous, but you’d never believe it if I told you that. Your hands, they never stop moving, and you shouldn’t be graceful but you are and I’ve dreamed about your fingers many, many times. I can’t believe you haven’t gotten those clever fingers inside of me yet. Because you should be inside of me all the time, because a part of you is always, always… I want you all the time.” 

Now real Derek  _ definitely _ never would have said anything like that. Stiles hadn’t dared to ask about turning the tables, because every time Stiles had squeezed Derek’s ass and a finger had slipped a bit, Derek had frozen up and Stiles had assumed he’d fucked up. It only happened a couple of times, but it left enough of an impression for Stiles not to even ask. 

But at least Dream Derek wanted Stiles in that way. Dream Derek thought Stiles was gorgeous, and he loved Stiles’ body, and he wanted Stiles in all the ways. So maybe Stiles was just going to stick with Dream Derek from now on, to feel all of the things he hadn’t gotten to feel yet, to be with this softer version of Derek who liked Stiles so very much. 

Though Stiles would miss real Derek and the way he rolled his eyes and raised his brows of sass at some of Stiles’ comments. He’d miss being made fun of. Wasn’t that stupid? 

He was so sleepy. He didn’t want to think stupid thoughts when he was like this. 

“But not just sex,” Dream Derek was so much more verbose, and he was saying all of these things that Stiles had been hoping real Derek would say. “I want all of you. Annoying and smart and persistent and gorgeous and funny and loyal and loving and… I love you.” 

See? That was exactly what Stiles needed to hear, and Dream Derek totally knew it. Dream Derek knew about Stiles being a romantic and how he’d fallen for real Derek ever so slowly - a true Regency romance novel plot. A real slow burn, they’d call it. 

Honestly, Stiles didn’t know exactly when it happened, because there wasn’t one moment that he could single out. There were just so many short, small, seemingly insignificant moments that he remembered instead, and all of the ways Derek had respected his wishes and grown on him and apologized for his many, many mistakes and gave as good as he got and made Stiles feel safe and appreciated. Made him feel loved, even. 

Oh, Dream Derek was probably waiting for an answer. 

“Love you too,” Stiles muttered, clinging to Dream Derek some more. 

Because Dream Derek deserved all of the cuddles. In fact, Stiles was just never going to stop cuddling him. Yeah, that sounded like a solid decision, and a great plan for the rest of his life. 

“Stiles?” Dream Derek’s heart was pounding weirdly fast. 

“Your heart is loud,” Stiles slurred, so sleepy and so safe. “I’m just having the best dream, Derek. Babe, you’re the very best dream. Now sleep. You need sleep.” 

That was embarrassingly sappy, but Dream Derek was totally going to be okay with that. Because he was a dream, and dreams wouldn’t dare to insult him or laugh at him for calling his husband the best dream and using a pet name without being sarcastic about it. And yeah, he didn’t usually like being this sappy, and he did like Derek getting sarcastic with him, but sometimes he just really had to say these stupidly nice things. 

“Okay, dear heart,” Derek returned, voice soft and almost soothing. “Go back to sleep.” 

See? Dream Derek was the very nicest. He called Stiles by a pet name too, one that Stiles still hadn’t quite figured out, but one that made him feel cared for and appreciated nonetheless. It made him feel warm and safe, and like he was allowed to cuddle with his dream husband some more, letting Derek wrap his arms around Stiles and gently run his fingers down Stiles’ spine. 

It was like Derek was counting the vertebrae, or exploring parts of Stiles that weren’t usually involved in their touching. Because usually it was all about the sex, and while Derek had probably touched every fucking inch of him at this point, they didn’t usually take any time for non-sexual touches. Because why would they, honestly? That just wasn’t who they were to each other - but it could be what Dream Derek and Sleepy Stiles were like. 

Only he was surprisingly lucid for this being a dream. And he’d gotten the details so perfectly right, even that one lock of Derek’s hair that never quite cooperated, and the way he almost seemed to be writing something on Stiles’ back now. Clearly enough for Stiles to figure out what he was doing, and exactly what he was writing - which wasn’t possible in dreams. 

Wait, go  _ back _ to sleep? 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Stiles sat up straight in bed, hitting Derek in the face with his arm. 

See, if this were a dream, that never would have happened. If this were a dream, Derek would have caught his arm in time and they would have kissed and continued to be all adorable and cuddly until they were rudely disturbed by the existence of the real world. But instead Derek was cursing under his breath, loud enough for Stiles to hear it. 

And Stiles made sure he had ten fingers - wasn’t that how you were supposed to know? 

“Ouch,” Derek moved to touch his jaw, because Stiles had hit him quite hard. 

“What the actual fuck, Derek?” Stiles was ready to just lay into him now. “What the  _ fuck _ ?” 

Repetitive? Absolutely. But what the hell else was Stiles supposed to say to Dream Derek actually being Real Derek? It wasn’t like he had words prepared to use at a time like that, for when his husband actually told Stiles that he loved him. 

Hell, Stiles had been pretty sure that was never going to happen. 

“You think I’m beautiful?” Stiles apparently had to get the superficial out of the way first. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Derek replied. 

Stiles really wished he was as good at the whole werewolf lie detecting thing as his husband was, because he couldn’t actually be sure that Derek wasn’t lying. But then again, Derek didn’t really lie to him, and he especially wouldn’t lie about something like this. Because honestly, why would he? What would even be in it for him? What would he gain from lying to Stiles about having actual feelings for him? Nothing, clearly. 

“You’d be the first person to think that,” Stiles ducked his head. 

“You’re an idiot,” Derek at least hadn’t been replaced by a pod person. “If you honestly think I’m the only person to be attracted to you, you need to get your eyes checked.” 

That was just… ridiculous. It had to be. Because Stiles had been called a freak for most of his life, and no one had ever approached him or really flirted with him or been interested in more than his father’s position in government, right? This wasn’t some kind of ridiculous thing that Derek made up for… No, because Derek wouldn’t do that for no reason. 

Which meant that Derek hadn’t been the first or the only person to be attracted to him. And Stiles was honestly still fucking stunned at that. The Derek being into him for more than the hot sex. Because sure, the attraction was not an issue, but feelings? Derek? Feelings? 

Yes, he was probably going to be internally repeating that for a while. 

“Who?” Stiles asked, because apparently he was not above this shit at all. 

“Trying to find out if you have better options?” Derek responded, none too happy. 

What? Better options? Options? Non Derek options? Why would he ever care about that? Did Derek somehow miss the bit where Stiles told him that he totally loved him too? Stiles could have sworn that werewolves had better hearing than that, but maybe Derek was suffering from a somewhat similar hysterical deafness. Because somehow it seemed more realistic to believe it all to be an auditory hallucination than to believe that they were actually in love. 

They were married, and they were in love. Super unrealistic. 

“Oh, clearly,” Stiles made sure to make it very obvious that he was being sarcastic. “I’d just leave my  _ husband _ for whoever is interested in me. Because I’m that shallow. Because I don’t have a clue how stupidly lucky I am that you’re the one I was forced to marry.” 

It could have been someone else. Stiles was suddenly very aware that if he’d startled another wolf, he could have been forced to marry them. It could have been someone like the Creepy Ex-Duke (may he rest in pieces). Or it could have been the actual Creepy Ex-Duke, someone who would have coerced Stiles into falling in line in private as well as in public. Someone who would have had him turned without his consent. Someone who would have kept him from his only friend for the rest of his life because Scott was unsuitable and an idiot. Someone who would have let him be killed, who would never have allowed Stiles to put his teeth to their neck in front of the entire world. Someone who would have ruined Stiles. 

But it wasn’t. It had been Derek instead, someone who treated Stiles as a nuisance most of the time, but as a nuisance who had the right to voice his opinions in private, and who was allowed input on his own wedding. Someone who played along with Stiles’ scheming and joking in public, who’d grown with him and learned how to balance sniping at each other with listening when it counted. Someone who learned to let Stiles in and learned to apologize for keeping him out the thick of it. Someone who’d made himself into a true partner. 

That was far too much to say out loud, though. Derek was just going to have to figure that out from context or something, because Stiles was sure as hell not going to say it out loud. Ever. 

“Thanks?” Derek did not sound particularly appreciative. 

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles told him, far too fondly, but he said it regardless. “You’re an asshole and a moron and… What other charming pet names did I have for you again? Well, rest assured that none of them were very nice, and all of them were true. They still are. And I love you.” 

Maybe he didn’t need to be nice to get his message across, though. Maybe he just needed to say it exactly like he would say it, insults and all. Maybe he just needed to be the rude little shit that Derek had somehow managed to fall in love with. 

“Very romantic,” Derek rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stiles was not - sorry, that was. “Should I have found some rose petals and some of those electric flickering candles and a romantic dinner for two and held your hand the whole time? If I ever did any of those things you would have had me checked for poison. Or thought I’d been replaced by a not so evil clone. Or a robot. Or… Not the point, so not the point, now where was I? Right, romance. You never would have expected any of that from me in private, and unlike you I’m not the kind of asshole who makes important moments like that available to anyone. Okay, that’s going to be the last bitchy thing I say about your proposal.” 

It wasn’t. It really wasn’t. Because he was going to be giving Derek shit about that proposal for the rest of their lives. Because the road to hell was paved with good intentions, and oh boy did he have dozens of ‘road to hell’ jokes about the proposal. Because there was literally a song called ‘road to hell’ on the show’s soundtrack. The opening song to the show they’d seen, and boy wasn’t that the most appropriate thing when discussing the proposal. 

Derek had meant well, mostly. Though he probably also wanted to fuck with Stiles a bit. And Stiles almost couldn’t blame him for that bit, because Stiles had been a total fucking asshole to Derek at the time. Because they were both petty assholes who really had not wanted to be there, not with each other. And so they acted out, like a ton. Like, a fuckton. 

Shut up, that was totally a word. Stiles would enact a royal decree if it wasn’t. He’d make it so. 

“Of course it is,” Derek wasn’t even pretending to humor him. 

“Fuck you,” Stiles sighed, far too happy to bother hiding the stupid grin on his face. “I love that about you, you know that? I love that you give me shit all the time, and you don’t treat me like I’m… Somehow wrong or lesser. You call me on my shit and you make me better.” 

This was getting stupidly sappy, and they were going to have to walk this back somehow - Stiles just didn’t have the right words for that at the moment because he was stupidly happy that they’d somehow managed to get here together. That they’d somehow managed to drag each other to this point, kicking and screaming all the way there. That they’d gone from teeth at Stiles’ neck and yelling at each other to being allies and partners in crime and lovers and friends, and now this. He’d say lovers again, but this? This was more than that. 

Ugh, gross. Seriously, why had his inner Regency romance novel writer woken up again? 

“Are you saying I make you a better person?” Derek’s disgust was mostly fake. 

“Meh,” Stiles made a hand gesture. “You make me want to be a better person. You make me want to put in the work. Just so that I can be better than you, of course.” 

It was a nice joke. Because it wasn’t about either of them being better. It was about both of them putting in the work to continue being equal partners to each other. It was about both of them choosing to continue being this person, this partner, this lover, this… husband. 

Because while getting married hadn’t been a choice, this was. This was their choice. 

“Keep trying,” Derek teased. 

Stiles flipped him off before dragging him in for a kiss. 


	9. Epilogue, or Portrait of a Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the story ends and the author breathes a sigh of relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. Didn't quite get to 100k, but my Sterek bingo total hits 200k, so....  
> Hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Now I'm going to take some time to dive into the 100+ comments on this fic (and many others on the other fics), to let you know how much I appreciate YOU!
> 
> Thanks for going on this journey with me!
> 
> (96 thousand? Damn. And yes, I have so many In The Heights references now)

Exactly four years ago, Stiles had been in this exact position - just not in this exact spot, because of course they hadn’t lived in the White House back then (not that he still lived there now). He’d been a stupidly bratty kid, trying to sound confident even though the race had been far too close to call for any media outlet. Even though he knew that it could all go pear shaped very, very quickly. So he acted cocky and smiled at the public and tried not to fidget too much even though his Adderall dosage had been completely fucked in those last few days. 

Four years ago, Stiles had been alone, even though his Dad had been at his side the whole night, the picture perfect picture of a broken family coming out on top. 

Today he was anything but. 

“Your hand is clammy, dear heart” his asshole husband whispered in his ear. 

“Romance is dead,” Stiles was rolling his eyes on the inside, even though he couldn’t show it. 

Because the entire world was watching - well, most of the United States anyway, and probably a fair amount of Triskele citizens as well, seeing as how they’d gotten surprisingly invested in the American elections now that their Prince had connections to the White House. Seeing as how they felt represented and seen now in a way they hadn’t before, not even with all the pro-werewolf rights bills President Stilinski had supported in his first term. 

Hopefully not his first and last term. Hopefully they got to do this again. 

“Didn’t I vow to be honest with you at some point?” Derek was still whispering, knowingly providing a perfect distraction from the votes coming in. “I’m just trying not to break vows here.” 

That shithead. That dipshit. That, that… Ugh. 

Derek had been kind of a rock throughout the election process, even when a whole bunch of old stuff about him and his relationship with Katherine Argent got dragged up by Matthew fucking Daehler, his Dad’s far too young opponent. It had been a rough couple of weeks when that first came out, almost rivaling their engagement, but they’d actually managed to talk things through instead of going straight into accusations and trust issues and having no faith in the other person. They managed to form a united front, both for the media and for themselves. 

Because somehow they’d actually managed to become that united front. 

“I can’t believe I love you,” Stiles sighed heavily. 

He did though. Like, a lot. Like, stupid amounts. Which was not news to Derek at all, but Stiles still enjoyed reminding him of it from time to time. Because it made him do that ‘I’m trying to be annoyed but I’m still blushing’ face that Stiles wanted to look at like, all the time. 

It was stupidly adorable, okay? And that was saying a lot, because Derek was pretty damn amazing all the damn time. Even when they were furious with each other. 

In fact, Stiles kind of wanted to piss him off a little just so they could banter some more and keep them both distracted from the stress of the moment. Was there a private place somewhere that they could sneak off to? Because Stiles was kind of in the mood for a secret tryst in a secret passageway somewhere - and not just because he was kind of weirdly horny. 

Because it would be this awesome full circle moment. 

“Me neither,” the man of the hour interrupted their private moment. 

Lies. Terrible lies. His Dad was  _ very _ aware of how much they loved each other, because of a very inconveniently timed visit to Triskele when Stiles and Derek had been going through their newlywed phase (or, to anyone in the know: the ‘it’s real now, bitches’ phase). So, lies. 

Actually, that comment wouldn’t read as a lie, would it? Because John Stilinski still found it somewhat unbelievable that his son had actually fallen in love with his arranged husband. Not because he didn’t like Derek, or hadn’t thought he was a good partner for Stiles, but because the reality of it was actually kind of ridiculous to anyone who hadn’t been there with them to see it happen. John Stilinski had seen the hatred and the bickering, and then they managed to be mostly civil at the wedding… But to go from that to fucking in random rooms of the Royal Palace? Yeah, that was quite a change, too much of a shift to grasp for most people. 

John Stilinski was proud that they’d managed - but he could stand to live without the evidence. 

Or so he’d said the third time he’d found them fooling around. 

“Dad!” Stiles tried not to blush at the reminder. 

“Mister President,” Derek went with the overly respectful route. 

It was stupidly endearing that Derek was somehow still trying to make up for his rather terrible first impression on the Stilinski family by being overly polite to Stiles’ Dad whenever they saw each other in public. Whenever they had official visits, Derek was the picture of formality (perhaps to make up for the unofficial visits, when he usually couldn’t keep his hands off Stiles even in the presence of their family and friends). It just made Stiles laugh most of the time. 

“It’s just John to you, son,” his Dad mockingly waved a finger at his son in law. “And Stiles, if you’re going to make googly eyes at each other, please don’t sound so unhappy about it. I have discovered sarcasm ages ago, and got far too familiar with it because of some smartass teenager, but I don’t think most of the people here can say the same.” 

Right, not everyone was as awesome as his husband or his Dad. Which, you know, wasn’t even possible, but most people surrounding them weren’t even on that level. Because Laura wasn’t here - not technically allowed to show her support to President Stilinski so blatantly, even though everyone and their mother knew all too well which candidate she supported after her very public endorsement - and how it had nothing to do with Derek and Stiles’ marriage. 

Damn, Stiles missed his sister and his pack. This party would have been so much better with Erica there to make snarky comments about the toupets and the secret mistresses and the comments she’d managed to overhear that she just had to talk to Stiles about. Or with Boyd there to make people uncomfortable just by standing next to Stiles and looking like he was having the worst time, only to grin at children and small animals because he was actually the world’s biggest softy even though he was built like a fucking truck. Or with Isaac… Doing whatever the hell it was that Isaac did. 

Okay, they mostly got along now, but they’d never admit that out loud. Not in public. 

“Tonight, we’re in love,” Stiles nodded, trying to be a shit. “Got it.” 

“Just for tonight,” Derek played along, letting go of Stiles’ hand to wrap an arm around his waist. 

If they hadn’t been in public, Derek totally would have grabbed his ass, and Stiles was regretting being in public already. Because honestly? He kind of wanted to have his ass grabbed - only by his husband, of course. Anyone else was going to have a serious problem. 

“You two deserve each other,” the President was now sighing as well. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s all your fault anyway,” Stiles was definitely going to gloat about that for the rest of eternity. “You set us up, so you’re doomed to deal with our happiness forever. Doesn’t it just suck for you, seeing your only child so happy in love? With an actual Prince? I’m pretty sure this is some fairy tale shit, Dad. And you started it all.” 

No way was he going to mention his Regency romance novel joke to his Dad - that would probably be too much. And besides, this was kind of like a fairy tale, a story in which the monsters weren’t actually all that monstrous and the humans generally didn’t come off much better than the wolves. It was a tale with a message revolving around tolerance and being willing to listen to someone from another culture, willing to hear their traditions and rituals and motives for their actions. It probably even had a happy ending of sorts. 

“Worst mistake of my life,” his Dad said, starting to grin. 

“Lie,” Derek enjoyed playing werewolf lie detector at times like this. 

That certainly made all three of them laugh, and Stiles was all the more annoyed when his Dad was called away again to talk to some more important people. Even though he’d gotten used to it by now, by the way his Dad always had to talk to constituents or politicians or campaign people or foreigh dignitaries - or anyone but his family. While it stung sometimes, it was a lot easier to bear with Derek by his side, making not so sneaky promises about what they were going to do later, when all the craziness had died down and they could go back to their room.

Because even though Stiles was an old married man now, his Dad still kept his old bedroom available to him at all times. It didn’t look the same as it had when Stiles had moved in, or even the same as it had after Stiles had moved out - but it was a nice and private refuge for him and for Derek when the White House madness got to be a little much. Which it often did. 

“Sorry, son,” John Stilinski barely even managed those final words.

Derek pulled Stiles in a bit closer, because he always knew when Stiles needed that support, and he pointed out some people that Stiles actually hadn’t noticed before. Some people that he’d been dying to talk to for a while now. But he hadn’t been sure that they’d come. 

“Scotty,” Stiles couldn’t be happier that his best friend was there to support them. 

“Stiles,” his best friend came in for a special BFF hug - still as awesome as ever. “Is your Dad actually talking to my Mom right now? Is that actually happening?” 

So it was actually Melissa Delgado that the President was talking to - her and some very fancy people who probably had all the thoughts about why their President was standing so close to this random woman. Sure, his Dad was better at being subtle about it than most people, but Stiles could still read him like a book when it came to something like this. 

Like father, like son. Stiles was equally obvious when it came to Derek. 

“Brothers,” Stiles held up a hand to receive a proper high five. 

That was certainly enough to make Derek roll his eyes, even for him to turn and share a conspiratorial look with the only person who would understand the feeling. No matter how awkward it still was for him to relate to someone like her. 

To Allison Argent, soon to be Allison McCall. 

“Hello Allison,” surprisingly enough Derek was also the first person to welcome her. 

“Your Royal Highnesses,” Allison actually curtsied like a total boss. “Thank you for allowing me to join you for this. It’s important to my father and I that we get to be here for this.” 

Sometimes Stiles actually managed to forget that Allison had been groomed to handle meetings with dignitaries and royals from a very young age. But then something like this happened, and he remembered that the Argents were the closest thing to the Kennedys that the United States had had since… the Kennedys. Of course Allison knew how to curtsey properly, and of course she knew all the right forms of address - for both of them. 

And yeah, even after over a year, Stiles hadn’t gotten used to the title. It was just weird. 

“No need to be awkward,” Stiles grinned at Allison. “Or, well, at least not about this. Derek promised not to bring out the claws - not for you anyway. And you’re acting like you’ve never met each other. It’s been… Over a year already. It doesn’t have to be weird.” 

It wasn’t as weird as it had been though, even though the curtsey felt like a weirdly formal step in the wrong direction. The last time these two had spoken, they’d managed a civil conversation without too much formality - even some one on one smalltalk when Stiles and Scott had gotten too distracted with the portraits of Derek’s ancestors (they’d been in Triskele that time). 

But maybe things had to be different with so many eyes watching, many of them still stunned that the President and his son allowed an Argent to get so close to them. And with even more people watching Allison’s every move around Derek - it was probably a lot to deal with. 

“Maybe a little,” Derek gestured, and Allison couldn’t hide a smile. 

“Teeny bit,” Allison continued, now openly grinning. “I’m just picturing the way my Grandpa would turn in his grave if he knew I was using all the proper etiquette on Triskelean royals.” 

That was exactly the level of petty that Stiles absolutely lived for, so he was happy to let Allison and Derek have their weird version of a bonding ritual. Because it had been over a year since the wedding, since the first time they met for the first time since the fire (and wow that sentence had gotten convoluted, but it was the only way his harried brain knew how to phrase it). They’d had several chances to air out some of the awkwardness in private. 

Or whatever passed for private in the lives of royalty. 

“Anything to make that fucker squirm,” Stiles nodded sagely. 

“Language, idiot,” Derek grinned at him far too fondly. “I know it’s hard for you to use nice words in public, but I promise to reward you if you keep at it for a while longer.” 

His husband was clearly the best husband in the history of husbands, and Stiles would not hear a single word against it. Because Stiles had gotten a bit more complacent when it came to his use of language - he was a Prince now, and most of the staff at the Royal Palace had gotten used to his colorful vocabulary by now. Some of them had even started to teach him some typical werewolf ways to insult someone without them realizing until you’d already won the battle. And that was also exactly the level of petty he aspired to be. 

Last year’s Christmas bonuses had gotten a bit exorbitant, but oh well. These people had had quite a year, with the engagement and the wedding and the Creeper Duke - and the Derek and Stiles trying to have sex in places where they were destined to get caught eventually. Mostly they didn’t, but sometimes… And even when they didn’t, the clean-up was probably a bitch. 

“Gross,” Scott sighed heavily. “Do you have to do this every time?” 

Did Scott have to ask them that every time? He probably did, and not just because it was probably in the long-suffering best friend code somewhere - especially since they totally were going to get to be actual brothers soon. Though Laura had stopped being annoyed by it ages ago, even though she did like making fun of them for being sappy. Even though her own hunt for a husband hadn’t been successful so far, she kept a sense of humor about it. 

“Yes,” Stiles and Derek said as one. 

“We would never,” Allison pretended to be as pure as the driven snow. 

No one bought that, except Scott, who continued to be clueless at just how much he talked about his fiance’s many virtues. Sure, they weren’t nearly as public and demonstrative about it (Allison wasn’t the kind of person who was all that into PDA), but everyone who met them could tell that they were sickeningly in love. Usually within the first five minutes of meeting them. 

Scott was nodding along with Allison’s every word. “Of course not.” 

“Does delusion run in the family?” Derek asked, always ready to be that asshole. “Because I’m not ready to see John act like that with your mother.” 

Stiles loved him so much, even when he was like this. Maybe especially when he was like this, teasing Scott like they hadn’t gotten off to the worst of starts, and messing with Stiles by extension - because this was about his  _ Dad _ . And there were some things that Stiles could stand not to hear when it came to his Dad and Melissa ‘the Goddess’ Delgado. 

“Brain bleach,” Stiles groaned. “By the truck load. You are the worst husband.” 

Of course he was pouting at Derek, enticing his husband into kissing it better. It wouldn’t be the worst thing they’d done in front of some of the most important people in the world - it wouldn’t even be the worst thing they’d done in the White House. Stiles distinctly remembered the night he’d gotten unofficially engaged as being far more awkward than this. He remembered Derek’s teeth at his neck and trying to convince himself he wasn’t getting hard because there was a hot guy pressing him into the floor. That had probably been worse. 

But still, he could definitely use some kisses right about now, after that terrible image. 

“Lie,” Allison and Derek called him out on it together. 

Sure, Allison didn’t have supernatural powers, but her training had covered archery and reading body language, making her the most qualified human to make statements on deceit. And to completely annihilate anyone who dared to think of her as weak. 

“I’m not sure I’m okay with this friendship,” Stiles shook his head vehemently. 

“Lie,” this time Scott joined in as well. 

Sometimes being known was just really good, and not terrifying at all. Sometimes it was standing there as part of a group, missing his pack like he was missing a limb, but still feeling like he was a part of something bigger. It wasn’t just him and Scott against the world anymore, because it didn’t have to be. Because it could be the four of them against the world. Because instead of being a duo, they’d become a team over the course of this past year. 

And Stiles liked that. He liked it a lot. Even though the official team bonding activity seemed to be ganging up on him all the damn time. 

“Why do you all hate me?” Stiles had to bring the dramatics for this. 

“Poor baby,” Derek didn’t sound particularly empathetic. “I’ll kiss it better later.” 

Scott made loud gagging noises, because he was an immature asshole and Stiles loved him for it. The dramatics just made him even more likely to be just as enthusiastic in his response to Derek, and Scott knew it. It was just part of their script by now, familiar and soothing. 

Because it was taking forever, and Stiles just wanted his Dad to win already. 

“You’d better, babe,” Stiles was actively trying to be annoying about it now, distracting himself. 

“Dear heart,” Derek brought out that damn nickname again, just for the occasion. “I love you, and I keep my promises, but you need to stop now. They’re going to announce something.” 

Were they? Were they finally going to get good news? Stiles really didn’t want to consider the possibility that this was the end of it all. 

Clearly Derek had overheard something though, and seeing as he didn’t look too devastated, Stiles was reasonably sure that they were actually going to get the good news soon. Sometimes those magical wolf powers really came in handy, to learn all the good stuff before everyone else did. At least Derek was usually kind enough to share. 

“It’s time,” Stiles felt his heart pounding in his chest. 

He was trying to find his Dad in the crowd somewhere, because even though he was a grown-ass adult with a husband, and even though he was technically involved in ruling a country, he just wanted to share this moment with his Dad. Just like he had four years ago, even if it had been the shortest of moments before the media had taken over. 

Stiles just felt like this was a moment for family. That didn’t exclude Derek, or even Scott and Allison, but it meant that there was no way he wanted to be apart from his Dad. Besides, he didn’t do too well being on the outside for important moments. 

“Remind me to show you something later,” Stiles muttered to Derek, sotto voce. 

“Tell me you’re not talking about your dick,” Derek whispered in return. 

This fucking asshole was the one he’d married. The love of his damn life, the one he was going to stay with for fucking ever. Honestly, he couldn’t have found someone better if he’d actually gotten to choose for himself. Even though he wouldn’t have chosen Derek back then, because he was too angry and too far up his own ass about it - but that was not the point. 

“Mieczyslaw,” Stiles heard his name over the dozen and dozens of people talking. 

Derek moved them both in the direction of the noise, because Derek was more intimidating looking, and people tended to move the hell out of his way when he did his murder walk. Stiles just got hella turned on by it, but that was not something he needed to advertise right now. 

“Dad,” Stiles grabbed on to his father’s hand. 

“Son,” John Stilinski was looking at Derek this time. 

Oh God, this was… Stiles was trying so hard not to get even a little choked up at the way his Dad held out his hand to both his sons (in every way that counted), and even more so by the way Derek visibly softened before he accepted the offer. They were now flanking the President, ready for the flashes of the camera the second the announcement came in. 

And then it did. 

Stiles couldn’t remember the words, couldn’t even remember who said them, but he remembered the way his Dad took a long, deep breath before pulling both him and Derek close in a solid Stilinski hug. It was a hug the likes of which hadn’t been seen in ages, and Stiles felt like his entire body was buzzing with happiness, because they’d done it. They’d won. 

“Congratulations, Mr. President,” Derek said it first, grinning stupidly. 

“Dad,” was all Stiles managed to say. “You did it, Dad.” 

The hug could have lasted forever, but unfortunately there were more people who wanted John Stilinski’s time and attention. So the three person hug turned into a two person embrace, with Derek clinging to Stiles almost desperately - which Stiles thought was kind of weird until he realized that his entire body was shaking with the adrenaline of it all. 

“No words,” Stiles muttered. “No words. Jesus, this is a lot. I think I probably should have taken something to calm the fuck down before this. Because, wow. I think I was calmer last time.” 

Was he? He was having serious trouble remembering anything right now. There was only the rush and the happiness and the giddy feeling like he was filled with helium gas and he was about to float away from it all. He was so light, and so happy - because they got four more years to make a difference. Four more years of President Stilinski shoving wolf acceptance down people’s throats until it became as natural to them as breathing. 

Stiles liked to think that he helped make that happen. 

“No, you weren’t,” Derek actually laughed at him. “I saw the footage. No one would have been able to describe you as calm in that moment. Even when you were standing on the fringes, you were basically bouncing off the walls. The whole time. For hours.” 

How would he know? Had he actually watched hours of that footage? Sure, Stiles knew that they’d been basically stalked for that entire day, but most people weren’t all that interested in seeing the parts leading up to that moment, or even the moments after the initial victory. But somehow, Derek had seen all of it, and he still remembered it years later. 

“Did you watch me that closely?” Stiles had a need to hear all the details about that. 

“You were cute, for an idiot kid,” Derek shrugged, as if it wasn’t a ginormous deal. “You loved your Dad so much that you were willing to share him with the whole world. I wasn’t doing well, but that was… I told Laura I loved her that night, for the first time in ages.” 

That’s… How does Derek remember that? Why does he remember that? Was President Stilinski’s election really that memorable to Derek personally? To wolves in general? 

Actually, of course it was a huge deal to wolves, especially to someone who would have to spend a lot of time with the person elected. So of course Laura would have watched it closely, and made Derek watch it with her. And it would have gotten them excited that the dipshit who’d taken over for Argent hadn’t been re-elected. The election of John Stilinski was a good thing for the werewolves, not just in comparison to the candidate from across the aisle, but in comparison to anyone else who’d been running. Because John Stilinski was radically pro-wolves. 

It made Stiles so proud of him, and it made him even happier that they got four more years. 

“You’re a sap,” Stiles was delighted about it. 

“Shut up,” Derek huffed at him. 

Oh, right, Prince Derek of Triskele was not supposed to be engaging in romantic banter with his husband in public. Not audibly anyway. They could be a little flirty, but if they got too sappy they both got a little uncomfortable and Derek put a stop to it. Because he didn’t like performing for people - he never had, and he liked that they no longer had to. 

No matter that all expressions of love were completely sincere these days. Things had really changed since that day when Stiles snuck his way into the wrong (or right) party. 

Speaking of… It was time to proceed with his plan. 

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Stiles knew exactly what he wanted right about now. “They’re not looking at us anyway. We’re not that interesting, and I already told them that I wasn’t going to do any interviews until tomorrow, no matter what happened. Because tonight was supposed to be for family, and family only. And I have plans for you.” 

Derek was his family. His partner, his husband. And because his other family was occupied and would be for the foreseeable future, Stiles didn’t see the problem with sneaking out of the public party and starting a little private party of their own. He wanted to celebrate with Derek, not with a bunch of strangers who were more interested in his status and his Dad than in Stiles as a person - which was rude, because he was an awesome person. 

But it wasn’t just about the celebration, it was also about putting some demons to bed. 

“Stiles,” Derek was probably just really impressed. 

“That’s not a no,” Stiles told him, and started dragging him along. “Come on.” 

They had places to be. Or well, they had a place to be before they headed back to their room (because Stiles also had plans for that private celebration). Security was out in full force tonight, and Secret Service agents had been following the both of them all day. Because they were targets, even among friendlies. 

Still, when they got back into the private areas of the White House, the Secret Service left them alone. Sure, they were probably still being surveilled through the cameras, but that was all. And Stiles knew just how to get around the cameras - he’d figured out the blindspots a few months after he moved into the White House, and no matter how they tried to change things, Stiles always managed to find some way to sneak into places he shouldn’t be in. 

That hadn’t changed now that he was a boring old married man. 

“Where are we going?” Derek was trying to figure it out. 

“It’s your turn to be surprised for once,” Stiles was far too pleased to be the one with the plan for once. “Let’s see if you handle it any better than I did.” 

These hallways were still familiar to Stiles, even though they weren’t to Derek. So for once, the wolf was at a disadvantage - and yes, Stiles would still always enjoy those moments. And secretly, Derek enjoyed the mostly harmless surprises that Stiles threw at him. 

And at least Stiles wasn’t dragging him in front of a ton of strangers while he proposed. 

“I’m never going to stop hearing about this, aren’t I?” Derek rolled his eyes. 

He really, really wasn’t. Just like Stiles was never going to stop hearing about how stupid he’d been trying to sneak food from the buffet at that party, trying to sneak into a room from the secret passage ways - with a werewolf aware of his every move. Because it was funny to look back at those moments and realize how far they’d come. 

They didn’t get into the very real issues with these jokes. Gentle ribbing only. 

“Can you be gentle?” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows. 

“You’re the rough one,” Derek immediately responded, already getting fired up. “You’re lucky I heal quickly, otherwise you’d have some serious ‘splaining to do.” 

It was always extra funny to hear Derek making references. It was just so much better when it was Derek, who knew about a lot of old things, but had somehow missed out on contemporary gold like Last Week Tonight and Avatar: The Last Airbender. 

Though introducing Derek to all the stuff he loved was kind of awesome. 

Also, investors had been flocking to Triskele now that the reputation of wolves had gotten better. Media companies had been taking advantage of the tax breaks involving shooting there, and journalists (serious and pulp alike) had been hounding the wolf on the street for their opinions on just about anything that might affect them. 

The world had shifted (hah, that was a solid joke) and managed to make room. 

“Not what I meant, but thanks,” Stiles was absolutely going to take that as a compliment. 

“Where are we going?” Derek was not going to let them get derailed. “What are we doing?” 

So. Much. Fun. It was awesome to see his idiot husband all impatient and nervous. Stiles was getting to him, and he always loved it when that happened. Whatever it was about, from horny and impatient Derek when it came to sex, to Derek’s outright surprise at Stiles’ openness about how much he missed his mother (and Derek’s own reluctance to talk about his Dad and the issues in his parents’ marriage). Stiles just loved seeing that Derek was affected by his presence and his personality and his words. By all of it. 

Because Derek had much the same effect on him. It made Stiles stupidly emotional to think of it, so he’d impulsively decided on this gesture. Because he knew his husband, and he knew that Derek still regretted the way they’d gotten started, and still felt guilty over his own part in that. 

Which was why they were in the hallway of the White House, waiting for the right moment. 

“We’re having a moment,” Stiles fiddled with the entrance to the best passageway. “Now please don’t be too sexy, it’ll distract me. This takes finesse.” 

His husband was hella attractive and sometimes that was actually a problem, okay? Because sometimes Stiles had things to do, and instead he got distracted by Derek and his everything. By Derek doing the chin dip, or by the way he rolled his eyes and tried to hide his grin, or by his bunny teeth peeking out from that smile that could power a small country. So things didn’t get done, and instead Stiles had to drag his husband back to bed. 

If he could. Sometimes they regrettably had to stay in public. Ugh, those times were the worst. 

“I’m always sexy,” Derek’s deadpan voice made it even better. 

“You are not wrong,” Stiles was grinning as he pulled the hidden lever. “It’s frustrating to us humans. Us mere mortals.” 

There were so many ‘wrong lever’ jokes he wanted to make, and he knew Derek would probably get them now, but he was a little distracted by six feet of hot werewolf plastering himself to Stiles’ back for some reason. 

“I’m always attracted to you, Stiles,” Derek was now basically purring in his ear. “I can show you just how much if you take me back to our room. Because that’s the private celebration you want, isn’t it? It’s what I want too. I’ve been thinking about it all night, how we’d celebrate.” 

Stiles had been hoping they’d get the chance to celebrate, and to celebrate in private, but he’d been worried that they were going to have to lick their wounds in private. Sure, he’d been hoping and praying and dreaming that his Dad was going to get that second term, but the latest updates in the news hadn’t exactly been the most optimistic. He had tried to prepare for the worst, but he’d been hoping and planning for the best. 

Though this had been part of the plan regardless. 

“You’re killing me,” Stiles sighed, trying not to press closer to Derek. “I’m trying to be romantic here, and you just want to bone? This is an entirely new situation for us.” 

Usually it was the other way around - not that Derek was spouting romantic drivel left and right, but Derek was the one who was into big romantic gestures. And Stiles usually wasn’t great at those, because Derek could sniff out secrets far too well - plus Stiles tended to get excited and want to share with someone. But mostly he just wasn’t subtle and Derek had super senses. 

“Follow me,” Stiles reached back for his husband.

The secret passageways were a little more cramped than he remembered, but he knew the way, and he knew to cling to Derek very tightly because there were some bad memories that were always going to come up in a place like this. They’d explored the passageways at the palace many times since that terrible day, but the memories weren’t gone. They never would be, so it was their job to make a ton of better ones. 

Tonight was just going to be one excellent memory. 

“We’re here,” Stiles finally said, slowly coming to a stop. 

“Where’s here?” Derek was speaking softly. 

They heard noises outside of the passageway, and Stiles made sure that they wouldn’t get too close and risk revealing themselves to the many visitors occupying the East Room. Not like Stiles had done that time, over a year ago. 

“This is where I was hiding,” Stiles explained. “When you caught me. I know it isn’t technically when we met, but it feels like that. It’s when we started, anyway. And it’s where we started. With you throwing me to the ground and tempted to take me right there. I know, hilarious. Sorry, just trying to break the tension that I created myself because I’m an idiot. I just… I just wanted to make some new memories here. Ones that are better, and just for us. No one else.” 

They couldn’t fuck in here - too cramped and uncomfortable and too high a risk of people hearing something - but he was totally going to hold Derek’s hand a ton and maybe even kiss a little. Because kissing totally belonged in a full circle moment like this one. 

“You’re better at surprises than I am,” Derek tried to be glib. 

That did not work, because Stiles could totally tell that he’d nailed it. Derek had actually had a soft moment there, without immediately ignoring it and either distracting Stiles with sex or conversation, or getting Stiles to crack a joke to break the tension. They were both really bad at big emotional moments - which was just perfect for Stiles. 

But maybe just this once, they could make an exception. 

“Do you want to throw me to the bed later for the proper reenactment?” Stiles had to ask. 

Or not. Or they could just do what they always did. Because it worked for them, the jokes. 

Derek didn’t respond, not verbally anyway. He pressed himself close to Stiles and just kissed him. More loving than filthy, which was still totally working for Stiles. He was that easy for his husband still, and he was starting to suspect that he always would be. 

“That’s not a no,” Stiles grinned. 

“It’s not,” Derek was reluctantly smiling back at him. “Thanks.” 

That last bit? The actual meaningful bit? Spoken far more softly and almost reluctantly, because they were both emotionally constipated assholes, but they still learned how to communicate. 

“We started from the bottom, now we’re here,” Stiles shrugged, trying not to show emotion. “We didn’t get off on the right foot at all. I think we purposefully got off on the wrong one for a while there. But we made a choice to do better, to be better. To be better together.” 

This was quickly approaching sappy territory, and while he was trying to walk it back at least a little, but he soon had to admit that it was a lost cause. Because he was going to be sentimental about this, and he had every right to be. A lot had changed since the first time they were here, and Derek had to know by now that everything was different. He had to get that through his thick skull, and Stiles was just going to have to keep reminding him. 

‘Anyway, what I’m trying to say is,” Stiles actually dared to look at his husband for this bit, “I didn’t choose you then, but I choose you now. I’m always going to choose you. Because you’re my husband and my mate. Because you’re  _ Derek _ .” 

This wasn’t about obligation anymore, or about protecting his father. It hadn’t been in ages - he was totally at the point where he would have married Derek if they hadn’t been happily married already. He loved the idiot a ridiculous amount. It had nothing to do with Stockholm Syndrome and everything to do with the fact that his husband was awesome. 

“That’s the best pet name you’ve ever had for me,” Derek totally wasn’t choked up. 

Just a little, but he was totally emotional about that little speech. Because Stiles was an awesome husband these days, and they had been nailing the equals thing, and they were kind of on top of the world with the election going their way… His life was pretty awesome these days. Though Derek finding out about the none too complimentary nicknames that Stiles used to give him was less than ideal. He’d probably always known, right?

Stiles was going to be hearing about that forever. 

“You know about those?” Stiles thought back on some of the worst of them. 

“You do realize that wolves can hear you when you mutter stuff to yourself, right?” Derek was laughing at him, openly laughing at him. 

Yeah, he probably should have realized that. But he didn’t realize just how much of that stuff he’d been saying out loud. He’d honestly thought he was just thinking evil thoughts. But apparently his filter failed him again. 

Still, Derek was smiling and the bunny teeth were out, and they were happy and in love and they got to spend the rest of their lives together. So why not kiss that idiot?

They just kept getting better at it. So they kept at it. 

Honestly, they didn’t mean to cause an international incident. And they probably didn’t, this time. But tumbling out of the passageway and into the very much occupied East Room was still food for the many media outlets looking for a scoop. 

After all, how many times could this happen to the President’s son? Apparently twice. 

THE END


End file.
